James S Potter and the Tides of Change
by SGTwhiskeyjack
Summary: BOOK 2/7: The same bricks and mortar still make up Hogwarts Castle, but under the rule of a new administration they feel alien to James in his second year. With his family tangled in political webs, James must stay afloat through a true changing of the Guard. And with a magical storm hanging low over Hogwarts School, the safety of his closest friends must not be taken for granted
1. Chapter 1 - Undergarments

_A/N: And here it is! The not-so-long-awaited arrival of book 2 of my James S Potter series. If you are wondering what I mean by that, then go check out my Author's page and read James S Potter and the Heart of Hogwarts before you read this, otherwise you will be confused and ask silly questions. For now, I hope everybody has packed their trunks and made their trip to Diagon Alley, because year two at Hogwarts is about to begin!_

* * *

The now-familiar rush of warm air which whipped over James' face as he raced in front of his family through the barrier was the most welcome breeze he had felt all summer. The familiar crowds were back again, and he let the madness of a thousand conversations wash over him in tandem with the thick heady smoke furling lazily from the bright scarlet steam engine where it squatted fat and laden on the tracks.

He saw Uncle Percy off in the distance, and made to duck over and say hello as he heard him mention broomsticks. Sadly, the next two words out of his mouth were 'regulation' and 'control'. _Not_ a conversation James wanted to unwittingly stumble into, so he veered sharply to his left and made a beeline to the train, leaving many a sore toe its disgruntled owner in his wake.

On the way he passed Lilian Wood, one third of the famed and fabled Gryffindor Chasing Trio known as the Hydra. She, like the other two members, was in her seventh and final year of Hogwarts this year, and her father, Oliver looked to have her in a tight huddle, offering some last-minute advice. James gave her a friendly wave, and caught a few words of their hushed conversation as he pushed past.

'…last year, this year Lils,' Oliver Wood was saying. Referring to winning the Quidditch Cup, James assumed. 'You really need to make a move, before it's too late. Hair up, right? He likes it like that. Here. This is his favourite shade of lipstick.'

James frowned to himself, puzzled, and slowed down his mad rush to the train a little so as to hear the conversation. Lilian was looking absolutely mortified.

'Just look, Lils. Look at him, he's the perfect specimen, the perfect Chaser. Think of the kids you'd have! There'd be an entire English team of Woods!'

' _Da-aad,'_ Lilian whined.

James turned his head to see where they were looking. Of course: Ryan O'Flaherty.

He smiled to himself, glad to have something to cheer him up for once in what seemed like forever.

His summer had been an absolute _nightmare._ Much like his Christmas holidays the year before, he had quickly began a countdown to when he could get back to school. Things had oscillated repeatedly between angry and weird all summer long, and it had taken a toll on his spirits.

It had all started the moment he had disembarked off of the train. He had been scooped up by a flustered Ginny Potter, given a hasty meal of take-out and sent to bed together with his siblings at six p.m. because his mother wanted some 'peace and quiet'. Hardly the welcome home that he had been expecting.

From there, things had never really picked up. The whole my-half-brother-might-be-a-rampaging-murderer thing had really cast a shadow over the entire vacation. All of the Potter-Weasley extended family had, much to their credit, dropped whatever was going on in their lives and began to campaign for Teddy's freedom, as there was no evidence for him actually having been the Desecrator, and the Ministry had been unable to prove that he had done anything except get hit by an Imperius Curse.

James had been unable to see what the problem was, up until a very exhausted Aunt Hermione had explained it all to them one evening at a family gathering (marred as was now usual by the absence of several members of the family).

She had told them that the Ministry had touted Teddy's capture as a great success, and the Steelhearts and Miss Renshaw were the new heroes for capturing him and stopping any further harm from coming to the students of the school. The wizarding public were joyous at such news, and lauded the current Minister as a hero. Terms like re-election were thrown around, and Aunt Hermione explained how the time to choose the next Minister for Magic was fast approaching, and a success such as this one was great for his campaign.

This had meant that, even though they all knew that Teddy was innocent, the Ministry kept telling the public that he was guilty, and Aunt Hermione, Uncle Ron and Harry had had to spend incredibly long hours at work fighting against this decision, getting them to release Teddy. It had taken Aunt Hermione leading a court case which lasted an entire week, to finally divest Teddy of any blame in the situation, and to clear his name.

In the time since then, the Ministry had begun to exact its revenge upon them, for upsetting their apple cart.

Aunt Hermione had been given a 'promotion' to Non-Executive Chief Liaising Officer to the Head of Department of International Magical Cooperation. A role which, according to Uncle Ron, the effing Minister had made up overnight and shifted Hermione into to take away any real power which she once held. True enough, she told them, she was now all but redundant within the Ministry, and was expecting to be laid off any day now. The pressure was beginning to show, with both her and Uncle Ron, sometimes both of them, showing up at James' house looking like they might have had a bit too much to drink, and passing out on their couch in the living room.

Couch-sleeping seemed to be a theme of the holidays, James mused as he lugged his trunk up the step onto the train, knocking over a weedy-looking first-year in the process. He offered a vague apology in his general direction, and set about exploring for the best available compartment.

Harry and Ginny both, as well as Teddy, had spent their fair share of time sleeping on that living room couch. Teddy, despite being exonerated, was still not allowed to return to duty at the Ministry; his Auror career had been put to an end, despite Harry's best efforts. The edict had come from the Minister himself, and so there was nothing that Harry could do to circumvent it. He and Ron had both argued and lobbied until they had been thrown out of the offices one evening. The resulting scuffle had sparked a Ministerial Investigation into Uncle Ron's performance, which Hermione had explained to them was basically their way of trying to find a reason to fire him.

Harry himself had been given more work than was reasonable, but fewer resources with which to accomplish it. The hunt for the Desecrator had sparked up again, but this time the Steelhearts were the spearhead, with the Auror office being publicly ridiculed in the _Prophet_ for having returned a series of false leads and dead ends all last year. Harry was reduced to managing myriad minor altercations and scuffles which usually would fall well below his notice. And all the while the Department of Mysteries was recruiting his top Aurors, bundling them away, with or without consent, to join the ranks of the ever-growing Steelhearts.

The minister had made his intentions more than clear over the past few months: the direction forward for the wizarding world held no room for the Potters and Weasleys, and they ought to get used to it.

James aimed a kick at an innocent carriage door, sending it crashing open to reveal a group of stunned Hufflepuff third-years. This time he didn't even bother apologising, just grunted and continued tugging his trunk along behind him, brushing firmly past any of the students too slow to get out of his way.

All of that, the arguments and the fights, and the yelling. The infighting and bickering, that had only been the _angry_ part of his summer. There was still the whole _weird_ side of things, that he was having trouble coming to terms with.

The weirdness had begun shortly after Teddy's release from Ministry custody. Without a job, or any form of reliable income, he had moved back in to the Potter household, where Harry and Ginny had both insisted that he was welcome. That alone was fine; James was happy to be reunited with his almost-brother. It was all the extra baggage that came with it that had started to weird him out.

Three days after Teddy's release, once Harry and Ginny had both left the house for the day, there came a knock on the door. James answered, and still remembered the way his jaw had dropped to see Professor Meadows standing there, wearing thigh-high heeled boots so you couldn't even see her fake leg, a _very_ small skirt, and a top that showed bits of her that James had only ever seen once before by accident and had hoped he would never ever see again.

Thankfully, she had had eyes only for Teddy, and the pair of them had locked themselves away in the guest room, sparing James the discomfort of having to try not to look at _all of that._

A lot of angry yelling had followed. James and Albus had snuck up to the landing to try and listen in. Close, but not so close as to be caught. James had experience enough in _that_ department to last him a lifetime. They were unable to make out many of the words, but the angriness eventually died down, and was replaced by something that sounded a lot like Professor Meadows yelling in pain, interspersed with a lot of four-letter words that Ginny told them they were never allowed to say. James and Albus both were about to bust down the door and make sure everything was ok when they heard the professor yelling for Teddy to 'keep going' and 'right there'. Al suggested that Teddy must have been helping her with her leg, perhaps massaging it to work away some of the pain. James certainly didn't want to walk in on _that_ scene, so the two boys had happily trotted off to carry on with their days.

The angry-yelling and the leg-yelling had continued in cycles from that day onwards, with angry yelling predominating during the night time, and the leg-yelling happening mostly during the day, when Harry and Ginny were out. James just found it so _weird_ having a professor practically living at his house, using his bathroom, his shower, eating from their fridge.

Between that, and her propensity for walking about the house in her underwear – claiming that putting on trousers was a nuisance with her leg – James was beginning to think he might go mental before the summer ended.

Mercifully, Harry had come home early from work one day, to spend a rare afternoon with the kids, and walked in while there was some very vigorous leg-yelling going on. He had walked into Teddy's room, promptly sprinted out again, and then started up with some of his own angry-yelling at Teddy and Professor Meadows.

James didn't hear what he had said, but Professor Meadows stopped coming around their house after that.

Strangely, cousin Victoire started coming over for dinner much more often from then on.

The whole, sheer craziness of all the adult world and all their problems was driving James insane. He was sick of being snapped at and yelled at. Having things thrown at him, or spells cast at him because everyone else was so on edge all the damn time.

He entered the fifth carriage back, still trying to find an acceptable compartment that would fit all of his friends. By now he was glaring thunderheads, and a small boy who looked closer to seven than eleven gave a frightened shriek and dived out of his way. Finally, right down the back of carriage five, he came across two adjacent empty compartments. He peered into the one on the left, shoving his trunk onto the seat to save the space, making sure his initials were facing the door, in the hope that his friends would find it and join him.

As he stepped back out to say his final goodbye to his family, he cast an eye into the compartment opposite, double-checking that it, too, was vacant.

And there was the prince of all weirdness himself: Teddy Lupin, lying flat on his back on the bench seat, with none other than Victoire Weasley straddling him from above, their lips locked together fiercely, his arms pushing up the folds of her dress.

He really had had just about enough of weird to last him a lifetime. His almost-brother kissing his definite-cousin after spending the entire summer doing who-knows-what with his Defence teacher _definitely_ classified as weird. It might just take the crown.

Forging on with the only reasonable course of action, James slid open the door to their compartment.

Teddy shot up from where he was lying, sending Victoire crashing to the floor in a heap and giving James a mortifying look at his cousin's very pink and very frilly underwear.

'I wasn't- I- Oh, James. It's you. What the _hell_ are you doing? I'm a little preoccupied,' he gestured down at Victoire, who was glaring daggers at James and very huffily pulling her dress down around her to try and retain some modesty.

'I, err… I don't really know,' James said truthfully, 'sort of just came to say hi. I was wondering what you were doing; it looked _gross.'_

'I was just… seeing Victoire off,' Teddy offered, 'saying goodbye before she goes back to school.'

'But you said you weren't coming in today, that you felt ill.'

Victoire shot Teddy an arched-eyebrow look at that revelation.

'I felt better. I hadn't said goodbye to everyone yet, thought I ought to do the rounds, you know.'

James squinted at the pair of them suspiciously.

'If _that's_ how you say goodbye at the train station I'm _definitely_ fine with the hug I got this morning.'

Victoire let out a single peal of melodious laughter, and Teddy rolled his eyes.

'I don't- James, why don't you go find your friends, or Al. I'm sure he's looking for you.'

'Good thinking. I'll warn him to stay away from this carriage. I think he was happy with his goodbye from this morning as well.'

With that James slid the door shut, turning to run off and tell Al the news, mindlessly colliding with a much older and much larger student on his way. He stumbled backwards, before pushing past him towards the exit, ignoring the indignant cries which chased him from the train.

He shoved and elbowed his way through the press, which was easily as thick as last year. The smog hung low and heavy above their heads, and several of the taller witches and wizards were forced to draw wands to blow it away with a gentle wind charm. He eventually spied his family, not too far from his own carriage, and called out to them.

'Hey!'

He sprinted up to join them all, momentarily having to gather his breath before continuing.

'Teddy's back there,' he said breathlessly, waving an arm vaguely back over his shoulder into the thick, roiling clouds of steam encompassing the train. 'Just seen him! And guess what he's doing? _Snogging Victoire!'_

Well, James thought, from the diagrams that Tristan had showed him last year, he was reasonably certain that that had been snogging.

Nobody so much as raised an eyebrow. It was like everyone had already _known._

' _Our_ Teddy! _Teddy Lupin!_ Snogging _our_ Victoire! _Our_ cousin! And I asked Teddy what he was doing-'

'You interrupted them?' Ginny asked, incredulous. 'You are _so_ like Ron-'

'-and he said he'd come to see her off! And then he told me to go away! He's _snogging_ her!'

How had nothing exploded yet? Ginny and Lily were staring, with faraway dreamy looks in their eyes. Albus was just shifting nervously from foot to foot, too busy being caught up in worrying about Slytherin house, no doubt. After all of the drama accompanied with Teddy and Victoire the first time around, after he had spent practically the _entire summer_ with their Defence professor – James' _favourite_ professor – he was now _snogging_ Victoire. How were they all missing the gravity of the situation?

When nobody was looking, he threw up his hands in exasperation. His family was just _weird._ Maybe it was in the blood.

A loud burst of laughter caught James' attention, and he looked over to see his cousin and best friend; Fred Weasley II leap up into the train over the heads of several students, courtesy of the latest and greatest Weasley Wizard Wheezes product, no doubt. Following Ginny's insistence that James give Professor Longbottom their _love_ , he said his goodbyes and dashed away to catch his friend, carelessly throwing a parting comment Albus' way about Thestrals that was sure to get his knickers in a knot.

Once back on the train, James made his way to his previous compartment, elbowing and shoving his way through the students, older and younger alike. The press of bodies along the corridor was so thick that James was now having trouble moving. Chaos was reigning all up and down the carriage as students tried to find friends and available seating, in either order. There were shouts of greeting, cries of recognition, and a colourful expletive from an irate sixth-year witch upon laying eyes on a sheepish-looking Gryffindor seventh-year in front of whom James was standing.

He hastily squeezed himself out of the path of danger, feeling a pang of sympathy for the poor fellow as he stumbled into an ebb in the flow of students. He could see his compartment, blessedly now almost within arm's reach. He stretched out to slide it open and cut himself off from the madness, but froze as he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder from behind.

Instinctively, he turned to face the owner of the hand which was still resting on his shoulder.

Rain.

She wore long socks which came up above her knees, almost all the way up to the bottom of her high-waisted shorts, into which was tucked a long-sleeved, pale blouse, buttoned all the way up to her throat, and concealed by a thick scarf, despite the heat of the day. A small necklace fell down across her chest, set with a brilliant blue sapphire in the shape of a teardrop, easily as big as his own eye.

His mouth worked silently for a second – no words able to come forth through the logjam that had formed somewhere at the front of his mind. Greetings, apologies, questions, all were frozen solid under the scrutiny of that sea-green gaze.

'James Potter are you going to say anything, or just stare? You _do_ remember me, right?'

She quirked an eyebrow at him, and James now realised that he was having to look up at her to make eye contact – she had clearly been doing some growing over the summer. Slowly, haltingly, the gears began to turn, and he finally forced some words out past that unseen barrier.

'Rain! I- how are you? I'm so sorry I didn't come see you over summer. I went to go, and they told me that nobody was allowed to see you. Then everything was so busy at home by the time I came back you were gone and nobody seemed to know where you had left to. I'm sorry, I-'

He was cut off as she gave a very girlish, very un-Rain-like giggle and pulled him into a hug. The close proximity meant that an excruciatingly familiar sense of nausea began to creep up on him, and as he breathed in a lungful of her earthy, floral scent, he began to feel more than a touch light headed.

That was right up until her chest pressed up against his own, and he felt something so cold it was like an icy dagger pressed against his breast. He recoiled involuntarily, and saw a flicker of irritation pass across Rain's features as he broke off the embrace.

'What…' he looked down at her strange necklace, which was glowing softly in the dim confines of the carriage.

He looked quizzically back up at Rain, who was simply regarding him with an arched brow, and a slightly cooler expression on her face.

'I'm sorry-' he began, before Rain was shoved aside from behind by an unfamiliar older Slytherin girl. She collided hard with the side of the corridor, but before James could reach out to her, his path was blocked by two burly older girls, and Odette Mansfield strode in to face him.

Great, just what he needed.

'Potter! I've been looking everywhere for you. How has your summer been, darling. Give us a hug, there's a good lad.'

She spoke with an awfully posh accent that he wasn't sure she had possessed the last time the talked. Her vowels didn't quite make the same noises as James' and she drew out some strange syllables in the words.

Before he could even protest, she had engulfed him in a very firm hug, nearly lifting him clean off the floor. She set him down again, and adjusted a stray lock of her artfully-arranged dirty-blonde hair. James squirmed a little beneath her gaze; he very much felt like he was being weighed and measured.

'A pity, I thought you'd have grown a little over the summer. Not to worry though. I am so looking forward to seeing you out there… straddling that broomstick this year, Potter.'

James felt a little dirty the way she was looking at him as she said that last sentence. Up close he noticed that she was wearing a _lot_ of makeup.

By this stage Rain had disentangled herself from the clutches of one of the bigger girls, and pushed through to grab James by the arm. She shot a venomous look at Odette, and tried to pull him away into their nearby compartment.

'Oh, not so fast, dearie,' Odette tittered, 'why the rush? I've been meaning to catch up with you. Auntie Mia works at St Mungo's you know, she told me _all_ about you and your little secrets. She also said you have the most _interesting_ little-'

With an unannounced flourish, Odette drew her wand and jabbed it aggressively at Rain, who had been taken unawares, still busy straightening her hair after the scuffle, and looking haughty.

The force of the spell knocked her back slightly, so that for the second time that day she was sent crashing into the wall of the corridor. By now a few other students were beginning to complain, as their little group had blocked the thoroughfare, but James hardly even heard them as his eyes turned to Rain in horror.

Odette's spell had not only knocked Rain against the wall, but it had also tore open the front of her blouse, popping all the buttons nearly down to her waist. Her scarf had been thrown back, hanging down desperately from her shoulders, and dragging on the floor, exposing the entirety of her chest and stomach.

James gasped in terror, Rain looked too stunned to move, and Odette Mansfield gave a small little chirp of a laugh, her gaze, along with that of everyone else in the vicinity, fixed on a spot above Rain's pale pink bra, just above the tiny swell of her left breast.

There against her creamy skin sat, in glaringly stark contrast, a twisted midnight scar, roughly the size and shape of a Galleon. It was so alien, so foreign and _wrong_ that James couldn't help but stare. The more he looked, the deeper and richer the blackness became, until the corners of his own vision began to haze over. It seemed to suck the light out of the carriage around them, and in those few, fleeting seconds, everyone around was frozen in shock. Even as he watched, the scar seemed to _pulse_ in time with her heartbeat, and with every pulse, a flash of thick, black ichor shot out from the centre of the weal, radiating outwards and through her veins.

His eyes began to widen. From the corner of his eye he saw Odette Mansfield, her mouth agape, staring dumbly. Rain was beginning to gather her wits once more, and was looking absolute _murder_ at Mansfield, a verdant fire raging behind her eyes. James, finally jarring into motion, swooped forward, bundling Rain up and away, into the relative privacy of their awaiting compartment. Before he slammed the door shut and pulled down the blind, he shot Odette the most evil look that he could muster.

Inside the carriage, James released Rain as she pulled away from his touch. His fingers brushed accidentally against the skin around her scar, and he felt that same biting, numbing cold as it lanced up his arm, sapping the energy from his fingers.

This time, somehow, he didn't flinch back, but only stood transfixed, staring at his friend. She returned his gaze unflinching, and after a brief second gave a modest cough, before gesturing at her current state of undress.

His cheeks immediately bloomed a brilliant red, and he hastily spun around facing the wall, muttering a rapid-fire set of apologies.

So that was it; that was the scar, the damage left behind from last year's ordeal. That was the mark left on her by… whatever it was that had occurred up there. James still hadn't been able to work out whether his own recollections of the events were truth or not. They seemed so hazy, so distant now, and they offered up too few explanations, too many holes to leave him feeling anything but a sense of cloying unease any time he tried to think about it.

'You may turn around, James Potter,' came Rain's voice, eventually. When he did so, he was startled to see her looking as she had just stepped out of a dressing room, impeccable and unflustered. Of course she was; this was _Rain_ he was talking about.

'Listen to me when I say, that one day I am going to kill Odette Mansfield,' she stated matter-of-factly. Her deadpan tone and icy gaze meant that James was having a little trouble _not_ believing her.

He ran a quick mental calculation, and found that he had roughly in the order of thirteen _million_ questions he wanted to ask her, but again they seemed to all jam up before they could find their way forth to be spoken. It was clearly writ plainly across his face, for Rain raised a perfectly manicured hand as she sat down.

'I think, James Potter, that you and I are long overdue a conversation. That you have many questions which I shall seek to answer. You have my word that I will try my best to do so, wherever possible. Now, however, is not the time. Please, I have just been accosted and embarrassed in front of a horde of students, and find myself close to tears. Before the others arrive I implore that you cheer me up, as only you seem to be able to do.'

Once again, James found himself scrambling to gather his wits. He had fallen into the trap – as had many others, no doubt – of assuming that Rain simply possessed no emotions. Her cool, implacable façade had rarely cracked, save for her violent mood swings and magical outbursts whenever she succumbed to the effects of the myriad potions that she had to take to remain healthy at Hogwarts. Other than that, she was the most even keel, almost purely _emotionless_ human being that James knew. To think of her being about to cry seemed obscene. To actually _see_ her cry would probably be more unsettling than watching his almost-brother make out with his definitely-cousin on his school train.

'Did you know Victoire has purple underwear with little mermaids on it?' He blurted out.

The _tiniest_ hint of a smile quirked the corners of Rain's full lips upwards.

'Just how many items of girls' undergarments _have_ you seen today, James Potter? Ought I be concerned? I wonder if I shouldn't inform a teacher...'

James froze up for a moment, before realising that she had said it in jest, and burst out laughing. He even saw her give an actual smile in response. As the crowds in the corridors outside their compartment began to thin, and the train started to pull away from the station, the conversation began to flow a little easier. Rain was very interested in Teddy's fate, and seemed largely out of touch with the goings-on of magical Britain over the past summer, hinting that between her time in St Mungo's, and some time "abroad" that she had well and truly remained out of the loop.

Shortly after that, and just as James had told an outrageously inappropriate joke about a mermaid, a hag and a centaur which had gone so far as to make Rain blush, the door to their compartment burst open, and in piled Tristan, Fred and Clip.

'I hear somebody has been stripping,' Tristan blurted out before even any greetings were offered. 'Father told me I ought to go and get the "full Hogwarts experience" and investigate. Whatever that means. I think mother almost knocked him out cold with her handbag, so I sort of ran away at that point.'

James shot an awkward look at Rain, whose face had reverted back to the icy mask of indifference.

'Nothing that either of us saw...' he offered. 'Though you'll never _guess_ what I caught Victoire doing with Teddy!'

The others eagerly filed in, pulling the door closed behind them. It didn't escape James' notice that they all chose to sit on the same side of the compartment as him, and away from Rain. But he was too lost up in the retelling of his tale, and Freddy's noises of disgust and fake vomiting to pay much heed.

The bright sunshine of London began to give way to ominous steely-grey clouds almost as soon as they were outside of the city limits. Greenery whipped past in brief, lush bursts of colour, prominent against the faded dull brown of the dry fields. Tristan complained at length about the duress of his summer, and how his father had had him working on their sizeable farmland from the day he had stepped foot off the train. It showed, James noted, as it was clear that Tristan had done more than his fair share of growing over the holidays. Outwards as well as upwards; showing off the beginnings of a solid, well-muscled frame. Someone who might come in very handy should Preston Lynch decide to show his ugly face from time to time.

Clip, as was his wont on these train journeys, had pulled out a book to read and promptly fallen asleep, snoring rather loudly for a boy of such slender build. Fred was having no end of fun poking him with what looked like a long green stick which, every time it touched Clip's clothing, would leave behind a small patch of bright blue fur. Not a half hour had passed before the poor boy looked like a giant blue Pygmy Puff.

Rain looked to be in danger of her head wobbling right off, with the amount of time she spent shaking it, her palm to her forehead.

As they crossed a narrow, rickety-looking wooden bridge that seemed far too old and decrepit to support the weight of the entire train, Fred nudged James slyly in the ribs, a very trademark mischievous look on his face, one hand reaching into that damnable bag of his, which appeared to be purring gently.

'You'll never guess what happened over summer. I have the _best_ news. This year is going to be great. Check this out.'

He began to retrieve what looked like a small pocket notebook from his bag, when the door to their compartment slid open, revealing two more familiar faces.

Fred took one look at who it was that had entered and paled, hastily stuffing the notebook away again.

'Cassie!' James cried, leaping up to give her a hug. He ended up nearly full-body tackling her to the floor, as she buckled slightly under his weight. If anything she seemed to have gotten _smaller_ over the holidays.

'Ugh, James Sirius Potter are we _really_ going to do this for another year? Three syllables. That's all I ask. Cass-ahn-d _Rain!'_

For Cassie had just seen her best friend, and darted through the press to practically flatten her onto the seat.

'Cassandrain.' James grinned, as Holly shuffled in for her turn at a hug. 'I suppose I can manage that.'

He hadn't even seen her bring the Dragon Book into the compartment, but he soon became very acquainted with it as it smacked him repeatedly across the back of the head.

Holly, who had thrown him away with a small 'squee' as soon as Cassie had started advancing, was giggling hysterically in the far corner of the room. A safe distance away. She appeared to be another one doing all the growing, and now stood tall enough to nearly rest her chin on James' head, as Cat could already do.

Fred managed to save James with the Fur Stick, jabbing Cassie once in the stomach and evoking a fit of hysterical shrieks, doubled down with some wild yelling as Clip was awakened and found himself in the same blue predicament.

James tumbled out of the way as Clip leapt for Fred, retribution in his eyes. Cassie had somehow found an _even bigger_ book than the Dragon Book, and was waving it about with a surprising amount of gusto for one so small. He retreated fervently to take a seat in Rain's corner of the compartment, now the lone beacon of calm, as Tristan joined the fray, a great mass of blue hair sprouting from his forehead like some ludicrous unicorn.

The door flew open once more to reveal Kattala Lovegood. She wasted less than a second before gleefully jumping into the melee with a delighted 'whee' and latching on to Tristan's arm, where she was swung wildly about, her hair whipping through the air and slapping James in the face.

Rain nudged his foot gently with her own booted one, and gave him a small, private smile.

'Thanks,' she mouthed.

James grinned despite the blossoming madness in their compartment, and increasing likelihood of something – probably Fred's bag – spontaneously exploding. They were mental, the lot of them, but they were _his_ , and now they were together. He couldn't wait for the year to start.


	2. Chapter 2 - Sorted

_A/N: Chapter 2 has landed! Sorting incoming, and so the great question of which house Albus Potter falls to is upon us. Will it be Gryffindor? Possibly Slytherin? Who can tell?! And why does everyone keep checking out the Headmistress? Read on to find out..._

* * *

'Well, I'm not sure that these carriages were meant for quite so many,' Cassie squeaked from where she was jammed up against the window to James' right.

In a fit of togetherness – and in spite of the fact that they had spent most of the trip through the countryside jabbing each other with that _damned_ furry wand of Fred's – the group had decided to all catch the same carriage for their first journey to Hogwarts, wanting to share the moment as one. James had promptly decided that it was collectively their worst idea since the time somebody had hit Rain in the face with a snowball and began the Great Hogwarts Ice Age in their first year.

He was currently pressed into a rather chilly pane of glass, his view limited severely by Cat's cascade of platinum-blonde hair which rained down around his face from where she was sitting on his lap. Tristan was next to them, and James couldn't see but he was _certain_ that he was taking up as much space as humanly possible. Clip and Holly were in a similar position opposite James, and his legs kept getting tangled up in the hems of their robes. Cassie had somehow managed to draw the short straw, and ended up with Fred's bottom alarmingly close to her face. She was practically clawing up the sides of the carriage to keep away from his furry wand, which was currently tucked carelessly into his waistband and swinging about dangerously as they passed over the many potholes on the tree-lined path.

Rain seemed to be the only one unfazed by the whole affair; perched in her own corner, legs crossed, hands folded in her lap, looking out silently at the trees as they slid past them outside, eagerly awaiting their first glimpse of the castle from around the upcoming headland. James was trying to shoot her dirty looks from where he was sat, but Cat's infernal, never-ending curtain of hair kept tickling him every time he tried to move.

'One would think,' Rain began, shifting her scarf idly from within her irritatingly spacious corner, 'that at a magical castle, in a carriage pulled by magical creatures, surely somebody along the line would decide that it _might just_ be a good idea to make said carriages a little more magically comfortable.'

'You don't say,' grumbled Cassie through a mouthful of Fred's behind.

'Ow!' cried poor Fred. 'Nobody likes a biter!'

'No,' mused Tristan, 'Father says it's the _swallowers_ that everybody likes. Whatever that means.'

Rain made a sort of strangled cry which was cut off by a hacking cough. She banged her hand twice against the wall and, much to their immense relief, the carriage expanded comfortably to fit them all in. Cat shuffled down off of James' lap and he stretched his legs out happily.

'I didn't know they could do that,' Clip shot at her suspiciously. 'It never mentions any Undetectable Extension Charms, or anything of the like in _Hogwarts: A History.'_

'It isn't,' Rain stated simply. Now that she had even more space she was looking more princess-ly than ever. Her legs crossed like the perfect little lady, her heeled boots swaying in time with the carriage. Shoulders back, chin up, James had never seen anyone sit so straight.

'Wait, so you did this _yourself?'_

'Uh oh,' Cat piped up.

'Yes, I did. Only problem is that I often have a little trouble-'

Before she even finished the sentence the walls of the carriage, which Cat had previously seen twitching as if strained, sprung back to their original size. Bodies flew everywhere, James ended up face down on the floor, hair of three different colours enveloping his face and something rather hard and pointy jabbing him in the backside. All as one the group let out a groan of defeat.

'Ooh!' Cat yelled from where she had somehow managed to land atop them all. 'The castle looks so _pretty_ tonight.'

James was still working out a crick in his back as they filed in to the Entrance Hall. Nobody was talking to Rain. James was also not talking to Fred, as that damn wand had been what was poking him in the bum, and now the seat of his pants were covered in a thick coat of lush green fur. His stomach was rumbling angrily; all he wanted to do was sit down, watch the sorting, and _eat_.

He cast a final glance back out towards the Black Lake as he crossed the threshold into the castle, seeing the dozens of pinpricks of light bobbing slowly across, making their own way up to the hulking, monolithic edifice where it clung to the hillside before them. He could just imagine their wide eyes and intakes of breath, nudging each other in the ribs and pointing up at this spire, or that window. Marvelling at the way the waning crescent moon was no doubt casting glimmering argent light across the ochre-hued, golden-lit building.

He wished he could be down there to share that moment with Al. Right before he'd push him in the lake, it would be nice to see that rapt wonderment on his little brother's face.

In spite of the incessant ribbing and joking, the teasing which had been the sole highlight to his otherwise forgettable summer, James was secretly hoping _very hard_ that Al made it into Gryffindor. He had gone so far as to owl Cassie over the break – in private, of course – and ask her about any instances she knew of where brothers were in different houses. She had told him that it happened often, and research had shown that the frequency had been increasing following the Fall of Voldemort, now that old prejudices against house colours were beginning to die out within certain families.

That had hardly allayed his fears, and so he had set about setting Al secret "bravery tasks" throughout the course of the holidays, just to get him in the right frame of mind, to make sure that he was ready to show off that Gryffindor courage that James knew he possessed. There had been one time, where a gigantic spider had crawled out of Ron's jacket in the living room after a trip to South America on "Auror business". James had practically thrown Al into the room. His brother had squashed it with a book, no worries. Point for Gryffindor.

The remainder of the results had been a decidedly mixed bag. Al had run and hid when James pretended to be an intruder, but then he had beaten James mercilessly when he revealed that it was him all along. He had successfully asked Mum for more ice cream one evening when she was in one of _those moods_ – something James had never been brave enough to do – but he had refused to chase after Lily the time that she ran into the woods behind The Burrow as night approached, deciding instead to stay indoors and read a book with Rose. Point to Ravenclaw.

James began to fidget as he dwelt on the topic longer. They were making painfully slow progress through the press and into the Great Hall. He prodded Cat in the ribs, gesturing to tell her to take a look at what was causing the hold-up, but she just shrugged.

Someone quite large trod on James' foot, and he swore angrily. He let out his anger by throwing an elbow into the stomach of a passing third year who had been relentlessly shoving everyone out of the way in front of him. The student – who was much larger than James had anticipated – began to turn around angrily, but the great roiling swarm of humanity swallowed him up long before any ill could become of it.

Fred had begun rooting around in his bag by the time their small group arrived at the doorway to the Great Hall. Before either of them could do anything about it, a pair of seventh-year students grabbed both of their arms in a painful grip, pulled up their sleeves, and stamped down hard onto the exposed flesh with a weighty contraption that looked somewhat like a bizarre potato-masher.

James cried out in momentary pain, looking down at the spot where he had been branded. The number "769" was already beginning to fade into his skin, and even as he watched, all trace of the marking was gone.

'What the-' Fred grunted, shoving the older student roughly, for all the good it did.

'They'll explain later. Now _get.'_

The two younger boys didn't need telling twice, and they scurried together to find their seats, as far up the Gryffindor table – and as close where the Sorting would take place – as they could get.

All thoughts of the branding, and even Al's impending sorting, were whipped from James' mind as he looked up the aisle to see the figure standing in front of the staff table.

Galatea Renshaw. _Headmistress_ Renshaw, now.

She stood firm and implacable, her feet – planted shoulder width apart – were clad in knee-high lace-up black leather boots. She wore loose, black silk trousers and a black blouse, with silver scrollwork brocaded at the cuffs. A long, dark robe with a stiff, high collar was clasped at her breast by a four-coloured pin bearing each of the House mascots. Her lips – adorned in a midnight-purple paint – were pursed as she studied the students before her.

The edges of her robe, and a few loose strands of hair, stirred faintly in a breeze, the provenance of which James could not ascertain. Her face was lit by the candlelight, in a way that she may have hoped was benevolent, but to James it just looked sinister. Even in the way she stood, she betrayed a deadly, poised grace and elegance, as if she were but a split-second away from movement, equally ready to draw her wand or wrap a loved one in a hug, whatever the situation required.

If he hadn't seen it for himself last year, James would wonder if Renshaw even knew what a hug _was._

He sat down under that iron gaze, feeling as if her eyes were boring into the side of his head as he very pointedly didn't look back at her. He wished he'd sat on the other side of Cat, a chance for that damnable hair of hers to come in handy for once.

All around the Hall the conversation was subdued, only the faintest confused and concerned murmurs rose up beneath the scrutiny of their Headmistress. But by her will alone, and the threat of invoking her frigid countenance, the chatter was kept to a bare minimum, and the last of the students eventually filed in with next to no fuss.

It was funny, James thought, that all of last year while Renshaw had been here, he had been so afraid of the Steelhearts. Now that they were gone, however, he realised that the scariest thing of all may actually have been their leader.

'Welcome!' she called to the Hall at large, silencing the whispers as if she had used a Charm. She broke from her repose and began to stride back and forth along the length of the staff table, casting her gaze carefully over each of the House tables in turn. She moved with fluidity, a lithe, casual elegance in the position of her shoulders, the sway of her hips captivating and almost sensual-

James stopped himself _right there._ He had most certainly _not_ been thinking anything of the sort about his _Headmistress._

'I am sure you all have a multitude of questions, and rest assured that I possess the answers. I am also sure that you are all aware that we have both students to Sort, and food to eat. Both of which take priority. So, without further ado, I give you Hogwarts latest attendees, our new first-years!'

A scattering of confused applause followed, cut short as the doors to the Great Hall slammed wide open, revealing a single file line of frightened-looking young students in all-black robes that seemed far too big on their scrawny frames. James shared a glance with Fred.

'We were never _that_ small, were we?' he asked.

Herded in by an exasperated-looking Professor Plye, who was practically dragging a single, sopping wet boy with mousy-brown hair the first-years milled about expectantly, three-quarters of the way to the front of the room. None appeared brave enough to get any closer to Renshaw, who was impatiently tapping a heeled boot on the flagstones where she still stood.

'Come on then, children, don't be shy. I don't bite, you know. Professor Plye does though, you've got to watch out for _him_.'

That produced a round of chuckles from the crowd, as James was sure he wasn't the _only_ one to have been caught out and humiliated for being late to one of their Transfiguration classes.

Plye, much to his credit, managed to briefly partially transfigure either his head or his robe – James wasn't sure which – into something resembling a giant shark. He snapped a couple of times at the first-years, who scampered all the way up to where the Sorting Hat awaited them, to a chorus of raucous laughter from the older students, Renshaw's melodious tone ringing out over all of them.

And just like that, she had won the students over.

From there, the Sorting began in earnest. The Hat, which may have been under strict instruction from Renshaw, had kept its song mercifully brief. It hinted at times of change and excitement, and a wealth of opportunity for all. It cautioned against allowing old rivalries to reinstate, and urged them all that they, the students, were the ones who would lead the magical world into the new age of peace.

All in all, James thought, rather a dull affair.

No sooner had Abercrombie, Aidan been sorted into Hufflepuff than James began to hear a very familiar clinking of metal flitting about the Hall around him.

Everywhere he looked, from the corner of his eyes he caught tiny glints of silver and gold. Brief, intermittent, mocking flashes of light teasing him with their coy winks. Up and down the Gryffindor table, between students seated all around them the coins began to change hands. Now that he was not among the terrified first-years, and scared out of his mind, he was able to notice some semblance of a pattern emerging; the coins were flowing largely in one direction, towards certain figures interspersed up and down the tables, who sat with suspiciously weighty-looking satchel bags next to them. The Galleons flowed upstream into those bags, where they were deposited, and as each student was sorted, a certain amount – calculated at a speed that would make any muggle maths professor raise their eyebrows – was then sent back along the line, into the waiting and eager paws of the winning bettors.

Even just watching it take place made James feel a little sick, as it mercilessly dug up all of the bitter memories of the Lenders from his first year; the way he had felt so _used_ and so _useless_ , how they had been but pawns in their game, all for the sake of a few Galleons more.

He wondered how the other students could not see what he saw; that in their greed and disgusting lust for thrills and instant gratification, they were so blind to the way the gold flowed. The stream to the bookkeepers was steady and wide, a great broad river fed my hundreds of tributaries throughout the room. It raged and seethed, collecting all in its path who had not the will to stand against it. Detritus of whispered hopes and silent wishes were gathered up and ruthlessly drowned in the frothing flow, for there was no regard for the whims of the individual in the maw of a behemoth such as this.

It was the return flow that so enraptured James; the way that not even a quarter of the coins that made their way into those ever-growing money bags found their way back out. He knew not the odds that were offered – he had no desire to – but he could see the futility of it painted so clearly before them in a picture so vivid that it made him want to scream at the fools, for all that they were doing was feeding the beast, a beast with the power to take over them all.

He tore his eyes away, gripping his empty goblet with white-knuckled fury. Cat, sensing his anger, ran her fingers gently along his forearm, making soft, crooning sounds to soothe him. The soft pattern she traced against the dark fabric of his robe seemed to leave a lingering tingle, which flooded outward from her fingertips and eventually began to warm him from within.

The table erupted around him as Jaime-Lee Creswell was sorted into Gryffindor – their first student of the pack. He joined in as the slender blonde-haired girl flounced past him so seat herself among a group of exuberant fourth-years further down the table.

Despite the fact that he was pointedly ignoring the Lenders' gambling, James' tensions continued to rise throughout the sorting. Potter, Albus was fast approaching on the lengthy list of prospective Gryffindors, and James had begun reliving all of the times that he had teased Albus about not making it into his house. The aim had been for him to stand up to James, to tell him to shut up and that he'd damn well be in Gryffindor because he was a Potter and that's where Potters went, but all it seemed to have achieved was to make Al more nervous about the whole affair.

Funny, that.

Which house were the worriers? James wondered. Cassie did a _lot_ of worrying, mostly about grades and teachers and creased pages in her books. Al liked his books as well. Did that mean he was going to be a Ravenclaw? James _knew_ he should have pulled him away from Rose and all of their reading that they did all summer.

He wondered if they ever did transfers; if the Sorting Hat got it wrong every once in a while and they had to switch the students out. James was sure that if Al ended up in Ravenclaw that they'd soon see that he didn't belong. Maybe he could talk to Renshaw about it. She had seemed… reasonable from what he recalled of their bedside chat at the end of his first year.

James didn't think that Al really fit the bill for Hufflepuffs, he just didn't seem… _Hufflepuff-ey_ enough. They were all such a friendly, jovial bunch most of the time. Often outgoing, with big personalities, a helpful sort. That didn't seem to fit Al at all; he was much more quiet, reserved, going about his business behind the scenes and not making a fuss to get what he wanted.

A lot like Holly, now he thought about it. Now _that_ was a concerning thought, what if Al was put in _Slytherin?_ James knew it was just like any of the other houses, and Aunt Hermione – and Dad as well – would chastise him for even thinking differently, but there was just _something_ about them. Perhaps it was the fierce rivalry between their respective Quidditch teams, exacerbated now by the fact that Odette Mansfield was the biggest Trolls-bottom on the planet, or perhaps it was the dark connotations he couldn't help but draw to Wren and Nero – his sponsors-turned-enemies from last year who seemed to embody the dark, broody, ominous nature that many Slytherins still strove for.

Scorpius Malfoy just received an uproarious cheer from the Slytherin table, and he strode over without casting a glance at any of the other houses, his upturned nose and pointed features dripping sheer entitled indifference. What if Al ended up friends with _him_? Uncle Ron had warned them about the Malfoys; he said their father was a right piece of work. And they had more dollars than sense, whatever that meant.

'Oi!' Fred hissed across the table, punctuating it with a kick to James' shin that snapped him out of his reverie. 'I can practically see the grey hairs sprouting on you. Relax, Al will be fine. It's Rosie I'm worried about. Those damn Ravenclaws will be drooling all over their library books to get their hands on her.'

James emitted a half-hearted bark of laughter, and gave a smile which didn't reach his eyes. For some reason he couldn't stop picturing Al in a green-hemmed school robe, linked arm in arm with Scorpius Malfoy as they pranced about the school together, raining haughty disregard upon all and sundry who got in their way.

He tried to shake the thought, ludicrous as it was. He made to take a drink of his pumpkin juice, before realising that his goblet was still empty. Frowning, he turned to Cat, unable to even watch now as Porter, Nancy made her way over to the Ravenclaw table.

'Potter, Albus!' barked Professor Plye in his no-nonsense, clipped tone. Al, looking as if he wanted to shrink into the folds of his robes and disappear in a cloud of smoke, staggered forward in a not-at-all brave manner. James bit his lip and Cat reached for his hand under the table, giving it a firm squeeze and latching on to his arm in anticipation.

Fred's fingers were tapping a repetitive rhythm, drumming into the table. The noise seeming strangely loud to James, even over the flurry of whispers that had arisen at the sound of the Potter name. The flow of coins had increased dramatically, and the bookkeepers were having to employ folds of robes and bulging pockets now to store the excess Galleons headed their way.

James' leg was tapping, in time with Fred's fingers on the table. Tap, _tap-tap-tap_ , tap. Over and over. The sorting hat fell down around Al's ears, covering his eyes in a way that would be comical if it weren't so damned tense. His body language was taut and hunched, defensive. Not the bold and brazen confidence of a Gryffindor, James thought. Even from this distance he could note the furious grip that Al had on the edges of the Stool of Sorting. He was pulling the face that James knew he made when his teeth were gritted, usually when he was arguing a point with Mum.

Was the Hat trying to send him to Slytherin? James cast his gaze wildly around the room, trying to find Rain. She had done _something_ last year. It had looked like she had been arguing with it as well, and _she_ had won. Could she do it again? He kicked himself for not asking her beforehand; he should have been _prepared_ for this.

A single bead of sweat was rolling down Al's face now – or was it a tear because he had been sent to Slytherin and the Hat was yet to tell them all. The wait was killing James. Cat let out a pained little squeak beside him, and he realised that he had been crushing her hand in his grip. He shot her a sheepish smile and lessened off the pressure.

Up on the Stool, Al let out a sigh, and his body sagged. Was that relief? Or defeat? James was leaning forward in his seat, his breath held along with the rest of the room. Even Renshaw had inclined her head a fraction in Albus' direction.

Then, finally, the Hat spoke.

' _Gryffindor!'_

Warm waves of relief washed over and through James. He stood up, leading the applause, which was exuberant all up and down the Gryffindor table. Fred let off a couple of miniature Wildfire Whizbangs which he had been stashing in his bag, and the coins flowed once more out and along the tables, the glint of gold reflecting alongside the crimson flowering down the hems of Albus Potters robe.

The Sorting carried on, and Ravenclaw claimed six students in a row – a new record, according to an older Gryffindor who had placed money on such an eventuality – but missing out on the coveted Rose Weasley, who got a cheer almost as loud as Al had as she scurried over to join them, a brilliant flush colouring her cheeks. She squirrelled in between Al and cousin Victoire, just across the table from James. He surveyed the room in delight as food began to appear up and down the tables. All together once more.

'So Al, Rose,' Fred managed around a mouthful of chicken wing, a baked potato held lovingly in his off hand. 'Have you worked out how you're going to get past the troll yet?'

This elicited a pair of blank, yet frightened looks. James, well prepared for this eventuality, dove in with glee.

'Yea, ever since Dad, Uncle Ron and Hermione beat that one in their first year, they made it the new guard to Gryffindor common room, just to show that you _really_ are brave. Only for first-years, though. I've already beat mine. Did it the fastest out of anyone.' He puffed his chest out in mock-pride, shooting a sly wink Fred's way.

'I- I never read _anything_ about a… a Troll,' Rose stammered, looking terrified. Albus dove for his bag, coming up with a rather thick volume labelled only: _Notes on Hogwarts – AP/RW._

The pair, like the good little bookworms they were, began furiously flicking through their notebook, trying to find mention of battling a troll. James thought he was about to pull a face muscle from trying not to smile. Victoire was looking on concernedly; James hoped she would stay out of it.

'I led mine off a moving staircase,' Clip provided in a very grave tone. 'Didn't have a single spell to my name, just walked him right off, six floors he fell. Lost ten House Points though, they had to get a new troll after that.'

Al had a comical look of disbelief on his face. Rose's mouth was opening and closing, refusing to emit any sound.

'But dad- dad said- the portrait- there's no-'

'Dad can't tell us _everything_ ,' James teased. 'Some things have to be a surprise, otherwise Hogwarts would be _boring._ That'd be no fun at all.'

'I think I'm going to be sick,' Rose groaned.

It wasn't until halfway through dessert, when Fred had wrapped up a tale of little Jimmy Johnson, who hadn't been able to beat the Troll and spent the entire year sleeping in the corridor, that Victoire finally drove a nail through the heart of their fun.

'You must not make such fun children, there eez no troll. Eet eez just a jest, your brother is being cruel.'

 _Ugh_ , James mentally sighed. She was doing the accent thing. She did that when she was smug. She used to do it all the time when she babysat them, and got to tell them what to do. James shot her a hurt look, and she smiled playfully, tossing her lustrous golden hair with a musical laugh. He didn't miss the look she shot up towards the staff table, either. Suspiciously close to where a very worse-for-wear Zoe Meadows was not touching her dinner, but drinking deeply from her goblet and swaying slightly in her chair. James proffered a small wave, but received only a scowl in response.

Before he could dwell on what exactly was causing his favourite teacher so much distress, the food before them disappeared from their plates, coinciding with Renshaw standing up from her own chair. A predatory smile danced across her painted lips, and the soft shimmering of her silken outfit flickered beneath the candlelight.

An immediate hush descended like a blanket upon the students. Frozen silence reigned as a thousand pairs of eyes tracked a solitary figure as she strode languidly around to the awaiting podium to give her opening address.

'Welcome, each and every one of you, to what promises to be the most exciting year for Hogwarts in a long time! Look around at all of your smiling faces, take a moment in introduce yourselves if you haven't already, and give each other a pat on the back, for this is the first year in recorded history that Hogwarts will be home to over a thousand lovely students!'

A hesitant chatter bubbled to the surface, interspersed by yet more clinking of coins. Seriously, was there anything one _couldn't_ bet on? The noise died down instantly again as Renshaw opened her mouth to speak. James' stomach chose that instant to let loose a loud, contented groaning noise that sounded far more like the Bloody Baron rattling his chains than a happy stomach.

He could practically hear Cassie rolling her eyes across the room from where she sat.

'Thank you for that, Mister Potter. Now, may I start with the customary warning to all first-years, and those with selective memory, that the Forbidden Forest remains very much Forbidden, and access to the eighth floor is only granted with express permission of, or accompaniment by, a member of staff, and only if that student is second year or above.'

She paused here to cast a lingering glance out over the students arrayed before her. The warning shot in her tone was underscored by the smouldering heat that simmered behind her eyes. Forgoing the lectern, she strode forth, pacing slowly between the house tables. She effortlessly slipped into that relaxed elegance, her body forsaking her forty-something years to assume the form of something much younger. James caught more than a few of the older students throwing lingering glances at the way her hips rolled, and the way the light lovingly caressed them, before snapping themselves out of it, identical looks of horror writ plainly on each of their faces.

'Now, I'm sure that there are many among you who are wondering about the markings, the numbers given to each of you upon your entry to the Great Hall today. Fear not, for there is nothing ominous to be said! They are, quite simply, a number from one to one thousand and seventeen. One for each student sat within the halls, from the Head Girl down to our newest first-year.

'This is the introduction of a system which has seen remarkable success, which I have seen with my own eyes adopted by several Magical School in the United States. Each of you have been given your individual Student of Hogwarts Identification Tag, and this number shall stay with you for the duration of your stay. Through it, we will be able to see how you perform in each of your classes. We will be able to have access to a living, breathing, magical _database_ of information on every single student. We will see how they perform in each class, which grades they receive on each essay, how many House points they have earned or lost throughout the year. In short, we can track everybody's learning experience, and tailor it much more finely to the individual, to ensure that _everybody_ gets the most out of their time at Hogwarts.'

Her footsteps ceased momentarily, and James could have fallen into the void of empty silence that was engulfing the room. He felt two firm hands plant themselves on his shoulders, and the scent of lavender and eucalyptus wash over him in dizzying waves.

'Take, for example, young Mister Potter, with the chatty stomach.' She paused, and scattered laughter dotted the room. Those who laughed looked shocked at themselves, as if they had been unaware they had even made the sound. Her fingers began to work slowly and deftly against his skin, massaging his shoulders gently, sending enervating waves of relaxed pleasure pulsing through him. He found himself sinking into her grip before he even knew what was happening.

'If we discover that Mister Potter has a tendency to lose an inordinate amount of House points in December, then we might need to pull him aside and have a chat to him about Christmas cheer. If we find that he has a propensity for achieving "T's" on his essays every time a Quidditch Match comes around, then we might just have to have a sit down and talk about the benefits of a well-rounded education. In short, we can adapt each learning experience, tailor it to suit each and every one of you. In spite of the fact that Hogwarts numbers continue to grow, we will be offering the most personal learning experience in history!'

She released James from her grip, and he fell forwards, his muscles feeling extremely relaxed and devoid of energy. He found himself, quite inexplicably, suddenly of the opinion that this new system was going to be the best thing to happen to Hogwarts since they increased the Quidditch Match Schedule from six games to eighteen.

'This is just one of the many new and exciting changes that we have made to the school this year. There are more classes, more clubs, and more opportunities to learn and work and be engaged. For far too long Hogwarts has remained stagnant, relying solely on her reputation to hold up her claims of grandeur and excellence. We have seen through that flimsy façade, and are here to change that before it's too late. We have the best teachers in the world! We have the best students in the world! And we are going to make sure that from now on, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is going to provide the best learning experience in the world!'

As she finished with a flourish and a graceful bow James found himself among the few students who were clapping. Most were just looking on, stunned. A few were glancing down at their forearms and then back up at the Headmistress, as if they were still having trouble processing all that she had said. Cat was shooting him a filthy scowl for his overt of Renshaw, arguably Luna's – and by extension Cat's – least favourite person on the planet, for reasons as yet unspecified.

The dismissal in her gesture was evident to the students, and so, befuddled, confused and far too full of good food, they waddled out as a seething mass and made their way to their respective dormitories. Al and Rose deviated off to follow Victoire, Dominique and the other Gryffindor Prefects, all of whom were yelling out the less important notices and information for their own houses to hear. James lost himself in the middle of a pack of Gryffindors, trapped in a cycle of his own thoughts, and wondering just where he would fit in in this new dream of a brand new, re-modelled Hogwarts. He hoped to Merlin that it would still be the home that he so needed it to be.


	3. Chapter 3 - Wet Feet

Morning of the first day of term rolled around, dragging James unceremoniously out of the warm embrace of his covers and up to face the real world. He and Fred made sure to tail Albus and Rose all the way down from the Gryffindor dormitory to the Great Hall, whispering loudly about all of the terrifying things that happened on their first day.

'-and then this _giant_ vicious Bouncing Bulb sprung out of its pot and attacked us! Professor Longbottom was just laughing and egging it on. It attacked one girl in our year – Holly Brooks – and gave her a black eye! It would have probably bitten her head off if Fred hadn't dived in and wrestled it to the ground!'

'James Potter, are you telling that _ridiculous_ Bouncing Bulb tale again? I swear, if I hear you say it tried to go for your wand _one more time…'_

'Er…'

Cassie and Rain were marching down the Grand Staircase linked arm in arm and descending on James, Fred, Al ad Rose where they had paused in the centre of the Entrance Hall. Cassie was glaring thunderheads down at James, her book bag slung over her shoulder in a manner that suggested it was ripe to be picked up and wielded as a weapon at any given moment. Rain was exuding an aura of cool disapproval, but James knew that sparkle in those sea-green eyes was the faintest hint of mirth.

'If you are trying to scare your brother again with more of these _insane_ fairy tales, I shall be forced to write home to your mother. Don't think I won't do it!'

James didn't imagine for a second that Cassie wouldn't do it. In fact, he would bet that she had a letter pre-prepared for just such an occasion, sealed and ready to be delivered by owl at a moment's notice.

'I wasn't- I just- _You weren't even there!_ '

Cassie was _tiny._ James wasn't tall by any standards, and Cassie barely even came up to his chin. Despite this, she still managed to make him feel as if _he_ were the one looking up at _her._ He ran a hand through his hair uncomfortably, trying not to focus on the smug smile that Al was now wearing.

'I'm watching you, James Potter.'

James stuck out his tongue at her, earning him a most affronted gasp from Cassie and a most unladylike snort from Rain, who covered her mouth in shock. Both girls hustled off quickly after that, neither looking back at James where he stood proudly, dusting off his hands.

'And that, Al, is how you handle girls.'

Rose gave an almighty scoff and tugged Albus into the hall by his elbow, leaving James and Fred alone once more.

'Why do they all have to be so mental?' James asked no one in particular. Fred nodded sagely next to him. His stomach answered with an impatient growl and the boys turned together to the Great Hall, and the promise of food.

The rolling sea of activity washed over them as they made their way through the imposing, panelled oak doors. Waves of chatter rose and fell, crashing about them in a ceaseless barrage. Occasionally a rapid burst of laughter would ring out with a splash, and all around the melodic clinking of cutlery on plates provided the background music for the scene.

Sunlight bathed the students all in a warm, golden glow, where it slanted in through the great, vaulted windows. Every so often a wink and a flash would catch James' eye as the light was reflected off of a golden goblet, or a gleaming knife. A wide smile began to stretch across his face as he walked up the aisle along the Gryffindor table, seeing familiar faces and new ones alike.

A bang sounded from near the Hufflepuff table, and the crowd hushed momentarily, only to boil over in collective laughter as an older student emerged with giant, wavy green grass for hair, from where they had flown back into the lifeless fireplace. James joined in, caught up in the mood as he slid in next to Cat, piling his plate high with all manner of cooked fare.

'Good morning James, did you know that today is International Kiss-a-Nargle day?'

'What's a- never mind Cat. Do you want to kiss one for me? I haven't a clue what they look like.'

'Well here, silly,' she admonished, sliding the latest copy of the _Quibbler_ his way. She pointed to an image of a pudgy little creature, with an alarming amount of spindly little arms and legs. 'That's one there. They like to hide in mistletoe, and if you kiss them, they give back all the things they've stolen!'

James nodded slowly, shooting a glance at Fred who was grinning wildly into his pumpkin juice.

'You keep that one,' Cat told him firmly, 'I've got plenty more to go around.'

James gave her a thumbs-up as he tucked the magazine away, diving in to his kippers and bacon before he was roped into any more explicit acts with unidentified magical creatures.

Clip had somehow managed to oversleep, and arrived in a wild ball of frantic chaos, his robes on back-to-front, as Professor Plye began handing out class schedules.

'Mmf – Whadiddeye miss?' he managed – quite impressively – around a mouthful of two hash browns and half a banana.

'Timetables' Fred replied, nodding up the table at Professor Plye, 'and all that toothpaste around your mouth, apparently.'

He tossed Clip a cloth to wipe it off, which was accepted gratefully.

James took a long draught from his own pumpkin juice to hide his blossoming smile.

'Timetables!' barked Professor Plye, as he approached them. Sheafs of parchment floated down to come to rest in front of each of them obediently. Clip's managed to land in his bowl of cereal and quickly became a sodden, sopping mess. He dropped the towel he had been wiping his face with, and dived to save it.

Cat had been taking a drink from her own goblet, and promptly began choking, assaulted by a violent wave of coughing and hacking mingled with frenzied laughter. James, staving off his own laughter, reached over to pat her on the back. Professor Plye found the situation slightly less amusing.

'Weasley, you are a buffoon.' He deftly slapped Fred over the back of the head with his stack of timetables and carried on, turning to call over his shoulder as he left. 'All students are to meet in the Entrance Hall after breakfast, for an _orientation_ day… I'll have my eye on you Weasley.'

Poor Clip was looking mightily confused, trying to catch his reflection in his goblet. Every part of his face that the cloth had touched had sprung out in a lush, bushy, ginger beard, which was yet to cease growing. Cat was still in fits of laughter, now collapsed into James' lap as her whole body shook silently. As the beard extended down towards his stomach, Clip yet out a frightened yell, backing away from it as if it were attacking him.

Soon the entire length of the table was pointing and laughing, and Clip was forced to tear off out of the hall, shaggy beard dragging along the ground as he went.

'Master Weasley, with me please.'

Unnoticed by most within the hall, Headmistress Renshaw had risen from her seat and made her way over to the Gryffindor table. She had glided down upon them, landing within the midst of the cackling flock with nary a sound, and now stood directly behind Fred, looking not entirely happy.

'Can I have your broomstick?' James hissed, as Fred slowly pushed himself up from his seat, dragging his feet as he was frogmarched out the door. The entire Hall froze to watch, and look upon the face of a dead man.

Cat was still lying in James' lap, and he prodded her just to make sure she hadn't passed out from laughing too hard.

'Oh, sorry! I thought I saw a Nargle under the table there,' she said brightly.

Breakfast finished off far less joyful than it had begun. James was mortified to see that he had an entire _extra class_ as part of his timetable now. Instead of two ninety-minute classes, an hour of lunch, then two more ninety-minute periods, he now had only a _half-hour_ for lunch, and _three_ classes afterwards. He groaned audibly, falling forward so his forehead came to rest on the table.

He was missing McGonagall's Hogwarts _already_.

As the food cleared, signalling the end of breakfast, James and Cat made their way to the Entrance Hall, to take part in whatever this 'Orientation Day' entailed. On their way he ran into Lillian Wood, who was using her significant height to help wade through the press towards him.

'Hey James, you ready for Trials this year?' she asked with a smile. Her long raven hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, reaching down to the small of her back. She brushed a stray strand from her eyes and gave him a friendly nudge on the shoulder. 'You can make the team this year, you know. We'll need some future stars to help keep the ship afloat when we're all off and playing in the League next year.'

James nodded fervently. He was very much aware that he was eligible to make the actual Gryffindor Quidditch team this year. He had only been studying and practicing every single free hour he had got over the holidays.

'Wednesday night,' she said with a grin. 'Ryan has been working _so_ hard over the break, drawing up plans. He wants to get into practice as soon as possible. He's so committed.'

A strange look was stealing over her features, to the point where James was fairly certain that she wasn't seeing him at all. Ryan called out to her from across the table, nodding towards the door and mentioning something about 'setting up the kit'. Lillian winked at James, straightening out her hair hastily, and hitching up her skirt to a height that _surely_ wasn't school standard.

'Young love,' sighed Cat.

James looked quizzically between her and Lillian, then over to Ryan.

Mental. Every single one of them.

The Entrance Hall was packed wall to wall with students, each of them shuffling and elbowing awkwardly to clear enough space to stand. The door to the Courtyard outside had been closed off, and as James joined near the back of the group, he wondered briefly how they were all going to fit in.

Standing proud and prominent, halfway up the Grand Staircase, was Galatea Renshaw. She was adorned once more in her full black garb; the now-familiar loose silk clothing and heeled boots that she so loved. She was resting with a single, manicured hand on the bannister, her fingers tapping, the sound of her nails clicking heard even over the throng of restless children.

'Hello again students. I find myself in a familiar position, whereby I am stood in front of a thousand confused faces. Fear not!' she clapped her hands together sharply, causing several students to start in alarm. 'For this one day, we shall forgo classes. In a new tradition that I should hope will last long after we have all left these hallowed halls, I should like to welcome you to the inaugural Hogwarts Orientation day!'

The doors to the outside swung open forcefully, letting in a flood of light and causing the students in the doorway to squint and hastily shield their eyes. James craned his neck, but even up on tip-toes he couldn't see over the heads of the other students. A feat Cat was managing with frustrating ease, as she relayed the scene back to him.

'Ooh, it's so pretty! There's streamers and stalls, and everyone is wearing bright clothes. Is that a Snorcack balloon? Professor Longbottom is dancing with a plant! Oh James, let's go now!'

But Renshaw had other ideas, and nobody was brave enough to leave without her express permission.

'Today will be spent welcoming the first-years, showing them through the halls, introducing them to their classes and making them feel at home. But rest assured that the day is not for them alone! There are countless stalls and displays for your viewing pleasure, denoting the many clubs and classes that Hogwarts now has to offer. Today is the day to sign up, and get your name down on the role, for keep in mind that as of this year, student participation in at least two clubs is mandatory in order to get the best, well-rounded learning experience that Hogwarts can offer!

'Any student not signed up to two clubs by the end of the day will be automatically allocated one based on their Identification Tag, and attendance is mandatory!

'But enough with the rules and regulations, I want you all to go out there, _explore_ all of the opportunities we have to offer. I guarantee you that each and every one of you today will discover something that you never knew existed at all!'

There was the dismissal that the crowd had been waiting for, and so they – slowly at first – began to trickle out the doors into the waiting arms of the riotous display of signage and stall-fronts before them.

Outside, Cat grabbed hold of James' hand so as not to get carried away upon the current of students, as James stopped at the top of the stairs to take it all in. His eyebrows climbed and he let out a long, low whistle. He had to admit, it was a pretty damned impressive job for a single night's notice, magic or no magic.

The courtyard before them was nigh on unrecognisable; it was ringed in with a garish, clashing melange of brightly-coloured stalls, each of which boasting a display that violently tried to outdo its neighbours. Professor Longbottom did indeed appear to be dancing with a giant, writhing Venomous Tentacula outside of a stall he had converted to a mini greenhouse complete with rows of squirming, squeaking – and in some cases bouncing – plants. 'Potter's Paradise' he had titled it, causing James to groan. He just _knew_ he was going to be forced to sign up for that somewhere along the line.

All around them chatter was erupting, students laughing, pointing out one extravagance or the next. Here a blossom of fire bloomed from a bowl containing what looked like liquid quicksilver, and there a group of students squealed in fright as they suddenly disappeared from the waist down. James felt his jaw dropping, great bubbles of laughter threatening to burst forth. The magic on display – everywhere he could look – was breathtaking. _This_ was what he had imagined as a seven year old child, when his father had stayed up at their bedsides at night, telling fanciful tales of the most wondrous place on earth.

The air was alive all around him with the crackle and fizz of magic, fuelled by the laughter of students and blazing bright in every smile that shone forth. The students were finally beginning to see the new, improved image of Hogwarts that Renshaw was selling.

James frowned as his brand itched.

Cat nudged him in the shoulder and gestured towards a stall where a Ravenclaw seventh-year was turning an owl into an eagle and back again, much to the delight of a crowd of eager young students. Two familiar figures were approaching them.

'Cassandrain!' James called, willing to risk one or both of their ire in his current cheery mood.

Cassie frowned exasperatedly. Rain's lips, set in a full pout, quirked up at the edges, causing James to go all giddy, like he'd just stood up far too quickly. He let out a single goofy laugh.

'Hello James Potter,' Rain said, her voice soft and husky. James was suddenly feeling like he needed to sit down. He waved lamely, managing to draw forth a dainty little giggle from those soft lips.

If the wind changed right then, Cassie would have been stuck pulling glare number three for a _long_ time, if James' mum was to be believed.

'You are an idiot James Potter. Come on, I saw an excellent stall back there about a Book Club – focusing on the developments in Healing Potions throughout the Eighteenth Century. It really was a revolutionary time for the medical branch of magic.'

James crouched down slightly, taking Cassie firmly by the shoulders and looking into her warm brown eyes. Her hair was arranged in artful disarray framing her soft, apple cheeks. He noticed the faintest dusting of freckles scattered across her nose, followed by the way her brows were currently knitted down in a very familiar frown.

'If you make me sign up to that book club, I promise that every morning for the entire year, that I will sneak into your dormitory each morning and place that face cloth of Fred's on your head until you go mad as well. Deal?'

She huffed and spluttered, looking up at Rain for support, but, in a moment of great betrayal, she found none.

'Ooh look, Nifflers!' Cat squealed, tearing off into the crowd.

They tracked her down outside a small enclosure which was piled high with a mound of fresh, tilled earth, positively seething with a mass of what looked like small, black fluffy mice with long noses.

'There yer are!' came a booming voice from behind them. James turned with a grin.

'Hagrid!' Hagrid scooped him up in a great hug, his dustbin-lid sized hands almost encompassing James entirely. He smelt of dirt and pine needles, and James buried his head into his great overcoat.

The half-giant stepped back, beaming brightly at their group. A few grey hairs were creeping into his flyaway beard, and there were a couple extra wrinkles creasing the corners of his beetle-black eyes, but otherwise he could have just stepped right out of the photo Harry had on the dresser of the two of them from his own first year.

A resounding, excitable bark sounded from behind the mound of dirt, and the largest, lankiest Deerhound that James had ever seen burst forth, leaping up to rest his front paws on James' shoulders. James laughed, fending off the eagerly wagging tongue which seemed intent upon licking every inch of exposed skin.

'Hey, down boy!' Hagrid boomed. The dog nuzzled James one last time, making sure to sneak in a final slobbery lick before backing down to nuzzle at Hagrid's side. 'Meet Sirius. I got 'im a few years back after Fang… After Fang moved on. Great dog, Fang. Really was a great dog.

'Young Sirius keeps me company now. Helps me around the place. Great for sniffin' out young first-years sneaking off to the Forbidden Forest, I tell ya. Loves ridin' in me motorbike too, he does.'

As if he knew he was being talked about, Sirius let out a playful bark, licking away happily at the tails of Hagrid's coat.

'And how'd you be doing, Miss Cassandra?' Hagrid asked, inclining his head politely.

James stared, looking back between the two. 'You know Cassie?' he blurted out.

'Yes, James Potter,' Cassie sighed. 'I spoke at length with Mister Hagrid last year when somebody _else_ wasn't talking to me.'

'Aye,' Hagrid agreed solemnly, a twinkle in his dark eyes. 'Almost forgot what you looked like last year, young James.'

James felt a flush creeping up into his cheeks, and he scuffed the cobblestones with his shoe.

'How about you come 'round me hut this weekend, fill me in on your summers? I'll make some sweets for yer, got a new recipe I have.'

James nodded eagerly, and the group begged off to carry on their rounds, Cassie notably stepping well clear of Sirius as they walked off. Fair enough, James thought, the dog was comfortably taller than she was, and unless Cassie was pulling glare number one, then he was twice as scary.

A beardless Clip finally re-joined them outside of a stall run by a pair of seventh-year Hufflepuffs who were dead-set on making Exploding Snap a House tournament, much like Quidditch. Admittedly they had some quite impressive displays of card castles, fit to blow at the slightest touch. How that was relevant to the game James wasn't sure, but it made for good spectating.

'So still no Freddy, then?' Clip asked, idly rubbing his hand along his once-again smooth jaw.

James shook his head. He admitted to being _slightly_ concerned when he hadn't seen him in the Entrance Hall with Renshaw. He was _fairly_ certain that she wouldn't actually eat a student, and that she wasn't _really_ a Steelheart in disguise, but there sure were a lot of rumours on the topic.

It wasn't until early afternoon that they finally did find poor Fred, who had been relegated to a distant, quiet corner of the courtyard, out the back of a dingy-looking stall that seemed to have no form of decoration other than being draped entirely in spooky black streamers.

'Do you know what she's done to me?' Fred groaned, massaging knots in his back as he leaned on a shovel at least twice as large as he was. 'She put me here. _All_ day, shovelling Thestral droppings. I can't even see them! Did you know that? If you can't see a Thestral, you can't see its crap either. This is ridiculous. I don't even know if I'm doing anything! And all old Winslow out the front says is that I've "missed a spot". I'm not sure what he's feeding these damned things but they must have crapped their own body weight by now.'

James stepped forward to inspect Fred's handiwork – or, rather, lack thereof.

'Woah, don't step there! You'll stand in the pile I've been shovelling.'

James looked down, saw nothing at all.

'Exactly.'

Clip was finding this most amusing, and led the group off merrily to go find something to eat. James promised Fred he'd sign him up for Quidditch, and anything else that looked worthwhile. Otherwise he'd probably end up in Winslow's Thestral-pooping club as its sole member.

Before they even managed to leave the quiet, forlorn corner of the courtyard, they were stopped by a shadowy figure in loose black silk.

'Er… Hello Headmistress,' James intoned, shooting his gaze up and down the group, wondering what they could have done wrong now.

'Hello Mister Potter. Hello friends.' She inclined her head towards the general direction of the group, most of whom gave nervous smiles. Cat stuck out her tongue. 'Interesting… Well, I was just in the area, to talk to my _darling_ niece, and who do I run across but a group of promising young students signing up for clubs.

'Now, I don't mean to presume, but I just so happen to know of one that would be most beneficial. Come along.'

James looked around at the group. Cat was scowling, Clip just shrugged. It wasn't like they had a lot of choice. One didn't exactly say 'no' to Galatea Renshaw. Not if one valued one's own life expectancy.

She led them a short distance to an equally quiet stall, which seemed to not even have anybody running it. Renshaw tapped her wand against the wooden trestle table in an irritated manner, and a figure emerged out of the shadows in the back of the stall, slowly stepping forward into the light.

James' stomach began to sink.

Strong, high cheekbones giving a sharply angular cast to her face. Tilted, imperious, almond eyes. Honey skin and dark hair tied intricately across the shoulder.

It was the Merlin-damned Enchantress.

'Yes Aunt Tia?' she drawled, her eyes not turning in James' direction for even a second, evidently dismissing their group as beneath her lofty regard.

'I've found you a keen batch of students who want to sign up for your club, darling. You really ought to look a little more excited! You know how much this means to me, my dear.'

Wren sighed in defeat. She turned her gaze upon the second-years and immediately balked.

'Auntie, no! I'm not having _him._ Or his little friends. I damn well had enough of them last year, I told you what happened.'

James had been busy formulating some sort of desperate plan to try and get them out of spending any more time than was necessary with Wren, but if it was upsetting her to the point of making her act like a whiny, spoilt child, then maybe it would be worth it after all.

'We'll do it!' James found himself calling out. He felt a hand shoot out to grab onto his upper arm in a vice-like grip. It was Rain, staring at him, for a moment a terrifying, unabashed panic was writ across her features, like he had just sentenced her to death with that statement. The moment Renshaw turned around, though, it was gone. The cool indifference was back.

James felt a slight chill wend its way down his spine.

As the group trundled off, having given their Identification Tag numbers under close scrutiny of Renshaw, and the sulky regard of their new club-leader, James caught the tail of a conversation between the two older women.

'-keep an eye on her. On _both_ of them. I've told you why. If anyone else finds out she-'

James never got to find out what "she" may have done, or who "she" even was, as a gaggle of giggling fourth-years came in between them and Renshaw, and by the time he looked back, the pair were gone. The _stall_ was gone, and where it had stood there was but empty, windswept cobblestones.

Perhaps Rain had had a point.

Following lunch, and James insisting that they detour via the Quidditch stalls to sign himself and Fred up, the group met with Holly and Tristan in the line for duelling club – easily the busiest of all the stalls. Both had spent the morning busily signing themselves up for a multitude of clubs together.

'We've been to Charms club and Tansfiguration club, and Astronomy club…' Holly began listing all of their feats.

'Riding club as well,' Tristan interjected. Turns out it's just Thestrals and Hippogriffs. I wouldn't bother.'

Unfortunately, Holly had one more club on her list for the day.

'James, you and me are going to do Herbology club together, with Professor Longbottom.'

'Nope. Nah-uh. No way. Have you _seen_ the name of it? _Everybody_ will make fun of me. And besides, I'm not even that _good_ at Herbology. I never got above "Exceeds Expectations" last year, _and_ I managed to hit you with that Bouncing Bulb.'

'Exactly! This will be your repayment. You, me, a few plants. Sunset in the greenhouse. Quite the romantic evening.'

'Erm… I- I'm not sure about that.'

'Tell you what; we'll bet on it. At sign-up for duelling club they make you do a quick duel, to see what your skills are, and which group you will be in. You against me. I win, and we do Herbology club. You win, we don't. How's that?'

'Ok, but if I win, you have to come to every single Quidditch game this year dressed in my spare flying robes, and cheer for Gryffindor. Deal?'

She narrowed her eyes at him, those silvery-grey orbs glistening softly in the afternoon sunlight. She popped the end of her braid into her mouth to suck on pensively for a moment, before nodding her head.

'Deal. You'll never beat me anyway, so it doesn't matter.'

James spent the rest of his time in the queue desperately recalling all of the spells he could from last year that might help him out. Everything from F.A.R.T club, everything the Aurors had taught them, everything he'd used when he went for the Heart… Wait, what _had_ he used when he went after the Heart? He couldn't seem to recall…

He had ensured that he and Holly were at the rear of their little group, and so he was able to watch all of his friends go first, to give himself a little extra time to prepare. As they neared the front of the queue, a skinny third-year with a little gold-embossed black book was querying everyone who passed.

'Bets? Any bets? We've got great odds. Potter-Brooks, our feature match. Two-to-one odds Brooks wins it. A staggering eight-to-one for Potter. Any takers? We've got galleons if you've got gumption. Step right up. As always, Lender code applies.'

James scowled as a group of older girls came to empty their coin purses into his satchel. As they walked past they gave Holly a hug of encouragement. Real confidence-booster, that.

Clip and Cassie squared off first in a rather uneventful affair. They weren't three spells in to the exchange when Clip shot a Tickling Charm that backfired, dropping him to the floor in fits of laughter. Cassie easily stepped in and snatched his wand. Point one for the girls.

Tristan faced off against Cat in the group's second duel, which hardly seemed fair. Cat was certainly not cut out for the aggression game, and ended up going down easily to a well-aimed Leg-locker from Tristan very early on.

'Usually I'm not so quick,' Tristan quipped from on stage as he took a bow. 'It's the first time it's happened, I swear.'

James cheered loudly, and Holly elbowed him in the ribs.

He mounted the steps to the raised, elongate platform which was the designated arena. Long, timber boards creaked ominously beneath his feet. A threadbare red and gold carpet lined the centre, faded tassels stirring in the breeze at each end. James flattened a corner of it down, to avoid tripping at an inopportune moment.

Professor Meadows stepped up between them. She looked like she hadn't slept at all the night before. Her hair a tangled mess, bright pink lipstick half-faded, half smeared across her mouth. She limped to the centre of the platform, step-clunk, step-clunk. James offered her a friendly wave, but got little more than a scowl in response.

She read them the rules in a flat monotone, backing down the steps off the stage, she signalled for the duel to begin.

Holly was already casting spells before James realised they were duelling. He flung himself low and fast to his left, feeling something tug on his robes as the magic zipped overhead. He rolled seamlessly to his feet, letting off a Leg-locker, followed by a Jelly-legs Jinx. Holly blocked one and sidestepped the other, pirouetting back to face James once more, wand held at the ready, her chest heaving.

'Same old tricks, Potter!' she called, 'this is going to be easy!'

She unleashed a barrage of spells that James didn't even recognise, and barely had the time to defend against. He ducked beneath something bright orange, then desperately tumbled to the side out of the way of what looked like the brilliant red of a stunner. He found himself on all fours, scrabbling backwards madly to try and distance himself from Holly, as she advanced upon him, a wicked grin adorning her face. Spell after spell she rained down on him; he barely had time to counter a thing. Only his Quidditch-players reflexes kept him in the fight, as he twisted and dodged each spell as it came, casting _Imminuum_ on the ones that came too close.

He was fast running out of platform. The tasselled edges of the carpet were directly in front of him now, his left hand found only thin air as he tried to back up once more. Holly was laughing manically. _This_ was the Holly Brooks that they had seen on their trip up to the Eighth Floor last year, _this_ was the Holly Brooks who had been duelling three students at once, and _winning._ This was the wild, blazing fire that lived within her, stoked to its fullest heat now with a wand in hand. The way her eyes shone, radiant with the light of the moon, drowning out the daylight around them, pulled James in.

He managed to break the contact, briefly, and a cruel and mocking laughter sounded out. Another spell shot his way, and he dive-rolled to his right, hands tangling up in folded corner of the carpet.

Suddenly struck by an idea. He wrapped his fingers around the tassels and _pulled_ as hard as he could, yanking the carpet out from beneath Holly. She squealed and fell, crashing to the ground, whatever wild magic that had been burning within her winking out instantly.

She hit her head with a very solid crack, and was slow to get up. James vaulted to his feet, sprinting up the platform, sensing victory approaching. He levelled his wand as she pushed herself to her knees, preparing to cast a Full Body-bind to seal the victory.

' _Petrificus-'_

' _Levicorpus!'_

Holly's spell, shot wildly as she dived out of James' path, connected, and the world violently turned itself upside down, bringing on a suffocating darkness. Panic flared for a second, before he realised that it was merely his robes tumbling down over his eyes. He swore as he was let down gently, sullenly shaking the hand of an annoyingly smug Holly Brooks.

'We're going to have such fun gardening together James!' she squealed in delight.

The group all filed on to the stage one at a time to fill out the sign-up sheet, Professor Meadows congratulating Holly a little too animatedly for James' liking. Rain was the last one of the group to sign, and before she could leave a second figure sprung up to the far end of the duelling platform, all smiles and well-dressed charm.

'Get lost, Odette,' James called, still furious at her for what she had done on the train.

Rain froze, glaring daggers at her. Fingers twitching towards her wand.

'How about it, darling? You against me? It's only fair that you get a chance to show us all what you're _really_ capable of. Surely you realise this for what it is? I would have apologised on the spot, but I was a little taken aback, you see. It's not every day you get to talk to a dead girl-'

Rain didn't even move, and Odette was thrown backwards through the air, bouncing painfully down the far end of the platform. She pushed herself up on shaking arms. Professor Meadows looked on concernedly, ready to step in, but she – like everyone gathered – had no idea just how far this could go.

'There's no way I can beat you,' Odette gasped, clutching at her ribs tenderly. 'Could _anyone_ here beat you?'

A strong breeze was gathering in the courtyard, pulling wildly at James' robes, whipping Rain's strawberry-blonde hair about her face like a fiery halo as she stood, unmoving. Odette slowly made her way to her feet, shot a stunner Rain's way. It fizzled out before it got anywhere near her.

There was a commotion of some kind in the crowd behind James, and he turned from the fight for one second. Students everywhere were all looking down at their feet in alarm, where a thin skein of water was flowing across the cobblestones, bubbling and eddying across the rough surface. Flowing _uphill_ – towards Rain.

Odette was looking a little scared now, the way her eyes were darting wildly down to the water, which was now flowing _up onto_ the duelling platform.

'I- I didn't mean it Rain. You know that. I just wanted to apologise. Let you beat me in a fair fight. They said if I-'

There was a thunderous _boom_ and, in a tangled snarl of midnight black, Headmistress Renshaw appeared at the centre of the platform, as if from nowhere. She stared down Rain intensely, not breaking eye contact for a full minute. The water still continued to flow, building up around the smaller of the two figures. Renshaw didn't flinch, neither went for their wands. Odette stood, mouth agape, wand held uselessly at her side, relegated to a spectator in all of this.

Finally, Rain's body sagged, the water crashed back to earth, giving a few unlucky students an unexpected shower. Renshaw stalked up to her, wrapped an arm around her and the pair vanished, disappearing into the same twisted, inky blackness from whence Renshaw had come.

The crowd stood stunned for a long moment, before Professor Meadows began injecting a bit of life into the scene but nominating some nearby students to help clean up the mess the water had made. James took that as a cue to leave, and led his group back towards the castle, suddenly no longer feeling like being outside.

As the group walked back together, confused and more than a little scared for Rain, they passed Odette, still stood frozen at the end of the duelling platform, her hands shaking and a single tear tracking down her cheek.


	4. Chapter 4 - Timing

The moment the end of class was signalled James leapt up from his seat and dashed towards the door. He didn't have to look back to sense Fred right behind him. The pair elbowed their way through the scrum, squeezing out the door at the head of the class, a bevy or pained grunts and angry curses left in their wake.

The afternoon sun slanting in through the windows illuminated an infinite cascade of tiny dust particles, spinning and drifting lazily. The gentle sigh of a stray breeze carried them on soft wings, here and gone, here and gone as the light came and went. Each time, James imagined himself crashing through the tiny motes, throwing their microscopic worlds into raging chaos as he charged forth up towards the Gryffindor dormitory to collect his broom.

Al was waiting, dressed head-to-toe in his brand new Quidditch gear, glinting and gleaming as if he'd never seen a day on a broom in his life. James grabbed him unceremoniously by the collar as he rocketed past, hearing a satisfying 'Eerk!' sound as he did so.

Together the three boys, now closely tailed by a frantic Rose, hurtled through the corridors of the castle, using every secret passage in their considerable mental database in order to speed up their progress. Rose was tailing along behind, shouting pointless advice at Al, who was beginning to take on an odd grey pallor as they neared the Quidditch Pitch.

'Remember Al, turns at an angle sharper than forty-five degrees require a decrease in speed exponentially related to- eeeeep!'

They had just charged through a false tapestry and tumbled two floors onto a Charmed, cushioned landing below.

'Remember to maintain a good metre of height above the Quaffle at all times, and when the sun is low in the east you need to line up so you can best obscure – _JamesPotterwhatdidyoujustdotothatportrait?!'_

Truth be told, the portrait in the west wing of the second floor was one of James' _least_ favourite shortcuts. It shaved off a good minute of running to get to the Entrance Hall, but one had to – dignity be damned – slap a rather boisterous old wizard repeatedly on the bottom in order for him to open the portrait. Conveniently, Fred had chosen that _particular_ moment to need to tie his shoelace.

Al giggled slightly, and James shot him a very clear _tell no-one_ look.

Outside, the sky was clear; a featureless, yawning azure abyss stretched from one horizon to the next, touching down to verdant forest-clad hills on either side. A lone cloud scudded forlornly across the horizon far to the east, in no danger of interrupting visibility. The light of the sinking sun was beginning to reflect off of the Black Lake, setting molten golden rays to dancing about the corner of James' vision.

Shoot from the west, he mentally noted. If the light was annoying him now, it would be playing hell on the Keepers trying to track a flying Quaffle come practice time.

'Al – guys, wait up – Al! Look… the sun… setting. Reflections… Snitch…' Rose collapsed in a red-headed heap at their feet as they approached the stands, her chest heaving desperately, the stack of books she had been carrying tumbling to the grass in a heap.

Fred poked her with the handle of his broom a couple times, shooting a concerned glance at James.

'Is she er… she always like this?' James asked Al.

'She'll come 'round,' Al assured him. 'Just a little excitable is all. She forgets to breathe sometimes, you know.'

'Mental,' muttered Fred.

James saw his own friends approaching in the distance, and decided to leave Rose in their capable hands; right now they had bigger Grindylows to fry.

The Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch stretched out before them, the gates flung open, wide and inviting. A gentle westerly breeze stirred the perfectly manicured blades of grass, and both sets of hoops were lit in fiery bronze glory, announcing proudly the ending of the day. Barely a soul stirred, way up in the stands. No flags were flying, no streamers waving, and no shouts of excitement or anticipation were offered up. The air was pregnant with a latent sense of expectancy, of promises and potential. James breathed in deeply at the threshold to the pitch. He stepped forward, running his hand over the perfectly imperfect wood, feeling the rough grain beneath his soft fingers. He stooped to pick up a blade of grass, letting it fly away on the breeze, savouring the smell of fresh turf now splashed across his hands.

He ran a hand through his hair, just as Al performed an identical gesture behind him, all three boys spinning slowly on the spot, spending a moment of quiet, solitary reflection as they let the imposing grandeur of the place overwhelm them. James allowed himself to be caught up in the beauty of it, seeing himself whipping through the stadium, crimson Quaffle in hand, cutting in and out between defenders, a perfect pass here, a thrilling one handed catch there. A sloth-grip-roll to dodge a wild bludger, and a textbook Norwegian No-Look shot into the far left hoop. He closed his eyes softly as the crowd went wild around him, chanting his name. From every corner of the stadium, golden badges flashed in the sunlight, his name standing proud on every single one.

In his vision – and in his reality – he spread his arms wide to take in the glory, rotating slowly on the spot as he felt the entire stadium gravitate towards him, about him, _for_ him.

'Finished yet show-pony?' Fred laughed, punching him hard in the shoulder. His weak arm, though. Fred knew better than to go for his throwing arm at this stage.

James scowled, giving him a friendly shove in return.

'I swear, you looked like a prancing hippogriff, your feathers all ruffly and shiny, showing off to all your _adoring fans._ I hope we lose when you're on the team. I think I'd rather lose each game than watch _that_ little display again.'

'When I'm captain,' James shot back, 'you won't even _make_ the team. No airheads allowed, that'll be my rule, right Al?'

Al had transitioned from grey to green, and looked ready to vomit right there on the spot.

Naturally, Ryan O'Flaherty, Lillian Wood and Connor Flint were already stood in the middle of the pitch, waiting for the would-be players to arrive. James was a little put-out that he hadn't beaten them to it; he'd really wanted to look keen and be the first to arrive.

Lillian gave him a wink as they joined the slowly gathering crowd. James was casting his eyes about for familiar faces, some that he hoped to see, and one that he _definitely_ did not.

Sure enough, right before Ryan was to put whistle to lips and call everybody into order, Preston Lynch strolled casually out of the Gryffindor changing sheds, broom slung idly over his shoulder. He looked every inch like he had been out for an evening stroll and had just happened across a Quidditch Trial in progress, so decided to join. His blasé nature made James' blood boil even more. He could see Freddy matching his frown from the corner of his eye.

'Welcome everyone, to the Gryffindor Quidditch Trials,' with such a simple statement, the institution that was Ryan O'Flaherty silenced the crowd. He didn't raise his voice, but spoke firmly, with a tone that he knew would not be interrupted. He displayed a calm confidence in his movements, a casual elegance that reminded James a little of the way Renshaw moved, but… _different_ , somehow. Not dangerous like Renshaw, but powerful all the same.

A few of the more nervous first-years shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny from where he stood atop his customary storage crate. As Ryan's eyes passed over James, he made sure to look back firmly, to stare into those burnished bronze balls of liquid gold, unflinching in their regard.

As his gaze passed over James' spot, he saw their Captain nod slightly to himself, and James hoped it had been meant for him.

Lillian Wood, James saw, had her gaze fixed firmly up into the stands behind them, where she was glaring absolute murder at something or some _one._ James turned to look, and saw a group of older girls – sixth- and seventh-years mostly – gazing down at the pitch through several pairs of Omnioculars, all directed right at Ryan O'Flaherty. They cackled with glee as Ryan bent over to help pick up the fallen broomstick of a nervous first-year, and Lillian made to not-so-subtly put herself between him and them. Ryan, evidently, remained oblivious.

'This year, I have taken the liberty of appointing Lillian Wood and Connor Flint as my two vice-captains, and so all three Chaser spots on the first-string team are now filled. In saying-'

'You can't do that!' Came a cry from somewhere within the crowd. James knew that voice only too well.

'I'll do what I damn well please, Lynch,' Ryan growled, his eyes flaring a brilliant gold. The way his shaggy mane of golden-blonde hair gleamed in the sunlight had James drawing no few comparisons to their house mascot.

Equally as dangerous, too, he thought.

Preston Lynch muttered something under his breath, but fell silent.

'As I was _saying,_ there are still three Chaser spots available on the reserve team, and all are up for grabs. First-years, you will split off and spend a little time doing drills with the two vice-captains, the rest of you will come with me. We will warm up together, and once the first-years are finished, we'll have ourselves a little game.

'For those of you looking to make the team this year, know this. This is the final year that the Hydra will be together. All three of us will likely be going our separate ways next year. Teams are owling us already, trying to recruit us for their League Club. It is _all_ on the line for us this year. We _will_ win the Cup this year. Anything else is not an option. You _will not_ remain on this team if you are not committed to that goal one hundred and ten percent. This year I expect you to eat Quidditch for breakfast, I expect that when you stand atop the Astronomy tower and take a deep breath of that fresh mountain air, all you taste is Quidditch. I expect that when you close your eyes at night-time after a hard days training the first thing you see as you fall asleep is the Quidditch Pitch in your dreams.

'If you are here for a hobby, or because you think this is just another of Renshaw's little _clubs_ , then I suggest you leave now. If you are here because you think Quidditch might be a little bit of _fun_ outside of school hours, I suggest you leave now. This will not be fun; this will be work. For every hour you spend studying Transfiguration I expect an hour working on your playing Theory. For every potion you brew outside of class I expect you to master a new aerial manoeuvre. For every Jinx and counter-Jinx that you learn in Defence, I want an hour on the pitch. This is not just a club, children, this is not just a sport. This. Is. Quidditch!'

On that final word he held his broomstick aloft, and the group let out a wild, primal cheer. A sheen of sweat was glistening on Ryan's brow, glowing softly in the evening light, and drawing out many a sigh from the stands above, much to Lillian's ire.

The way Ryan stood then, framed from behind by the stadium and the dramatic, rugged mountainscape behind, glowing with a soft, warm bronze light, James knew he was the idol, the figure that they needed to win the Cup this year. He only hoped that he would get a chance to be a part of it.

Their warm-up drills were fairly standard procedure; nothing that James hadn't seen last season on the first-year squad. They were separated by position, James was with the dozen or so other Chasers, and Fred trundled off to join the much smaller smattering of Beaters, who were stood a short distance off, slapping each other in the face and doing a lot of yelling. An odd bunch, that was for sure.

As they listened to Ryan's instructions, James tried to catch a glimpse of Al, down the far end of the pitch. James thought he had him picked; in the bright scarlet robe. It _looked_ like he was doing pretty well, right up until he missed a turn on the last hoop of their course and shot well wide, forcing him to backtrack and lose valuable seconds. James stopped looking after that, frightened that he had just jinxed his little brother.

'Have a good summer, Potter?' James groaned as Preston Lynch sidled up to him. 'Mine was great, Uncle Aidan got me the brand new Nimbus Prototype Broom. The F-sixteen is all they call it. Hasn't even been properly _named_ yet. It's not even due out in stores until next summer. They say it's at least _twice_ as fast as a Comet 430. Oh, that's what _you_ have? I thought they'd all been decommissioned. Good luck making the team on that. You may as well just use that thing Ellfrick sweeps the Potions dungeon with. It probably goes just as fast.'

James looked down at his broomstick, subconsciously shifting it away from Preston. His mother had won a League Championship riding it, not all that long ago. If it was good enough for the Seeker of the Holyhead Harpies, then it sure was good enough for James Potter. The wood felt smooth beneath his tightening grip, perfectly oiled and worn in to suit him. He knew the broom inside and out, knew the way it handled in every condition. That was just as important as having something that pulled nought to sixty in some ludicrous time.

Wasn't it?

Preston Lynch laughed heartily at his own joke, making sure to stamp down hard on James' foot as he spun away to join some of his other cronies.

'Don't listen to him,' came a voice from James' left. Eldon Prescott was leaning casually on his own broom, a distasteful scowl twisting his features.

'Hey,' James muttered, a little brighter and glad to see a friendly face. 'I never did get to thanking you for hexing him last year at F.A.R.T club.'

'Throw the trial so I can make the team and we're even,' Eldon joked, as they both mounted and took to the air in response to Ryan's whistle.

Ryan had them all hover around himself in a loose circle, about fifty feet up off of the ground. James sat comfortably astride his broom, feeling the way it subtly shifted and weaved beneath the light breeze, completely in control of his balance. Up here, in the air, he was finally _free_. He could finally shake off the oppressive bonds of homework and essays. He didn't have to think about when his next assignment was due, or worry about what staggering mound of work tomorrow would bring.

There was no room for that, for any of it. There was space in his mind only for the feeling of the breeze lapping playfully against his skin, the breathtaking views of the sunset kissing the Black Lake, and the sheer adrenaline rush he knew he would feel as he gathered speed, darting across the pitch and painting his own unique rendition of beauty in the way he ducked and rolled through the opposing team.

There was a type of release in Quidditch – and in flying – that one just couldn't acquire anywhere else. It was an entirely different world up here, a completely new set of rules. James could have stayed up there forever, if he had the chance.

Their first drill was a simple duck-and-weave between markers hovering magically in the air at irregular intervals down the centre of the pitch. Shining silver pillars hung lazily in mid-air, flashing brilliant red and gold if anybody managed to clip one as they made their respective way in-and-out between them all.

James went near the back of the group, whispering quiet words of encouragement to his broomstick as the other students sped off before him. Preston Lynch naturally _had_ to go first, and didn't hit a single pillar. Of course he boasted about this right up until James' turn, when nobody had yet managed to beat his time. James scowled down at the handle of his broomstick. He was about to be the first.

On Ryan's whistle, James shot off the mark, squeezing every ounce of speed out of the tired, old wood. He leant in low and hard against the handle, tucking in his elbows for less wind resistance, keeping all of his movements as small and concise as he possibly could. The pillars wavered slightly before him, not quite as still as they had appeared from a distance, and he nearly misjudged the first one, instead passing by it by no more than a hair's breadth. He grinned to himself as he used his speed to wind in between the next three perfectly, feeling the static energy crackling in the air each time as they whipped past him on either side.

He was fast approaching the far end of the stadium, the D. L. Malfoy stand, which stood empty but for a single, solitary figure. Through three more pillars, making contact with none. The speed he was managing to maintain was electrifying; he had forgotten what it was like to really _fly_. The way the wind tugged madly at his robes, whipped frantically at his hair and punched into his lungs with rampant desperation made him feel so _alive._

He let out a whoop of delight as he approached the turning point, where he would be forced into a tight one hundred-eighty degree turn in order to race back up the course from the other direction.

For some reason, something about the figure in the stands had caught his eye, and he looked up again, at the worst possible moment. Just as he was pulling back on his broomstick, about to complete a highly complex backwards half-corkscrew known as the Polish Pant-Wetter, he managed to lock eyes with the figure who was now less than a dozen yards away.

Odette Bloody Mansfield. As time seemed to slow down James watched her flip her hair and blow him a kiss in an all-too-coy manner. He balked, failed to pull up hard enough, and shot towards the ceiling of the stand, that miraculous speed he had maintained throughout the course now coming back to haunt him. He let out a yell as his leg connected with a wooden beam. He head a peal of laughter beneath him as he was thrown wildly off course. Still mostly upside down, and fully hurtling for a painful crash into the waiting stands, James yanked viciously on his broomstick, pulling it into some semblance of order. He managed to hook his ankle around one of the supporting pillars which held up the roof, and rapidly spun himself around that like a maypole.

The result was a violent tug on his leg, and an audible 'pop' which sent ribbons of pain lancing up all the way to his hip. He cried out, cursing Mansfield with every four-letter word he knew, but he had managed to salvage the would-be disaster, and was currently shooting away from the D. L. Malfoy stand at an impressive pace, back on track to complete the course in a reasonable time.

'One minute thirty three Potter,' Ryan growled as he crossed the line, pain still shooting through his leg. 'That puts you in second, behind Lynch. Nice recovery, 'choo call that move you pulled up there? I'd thought you lost it. Ogling girls. Pah! That looks like that Mansfield minx. Steer clear of her, Potter. She's trouble.'

James was kicking himself. Only two seconds off of Preston's time, that was by far the closest anyone had got yet. If he hadn't messed up that damned turn he might have beaten him. He was going to have _words_ with Odette.

'I wasn't _ogling-_ I dunno. Lebanese Leg-breaker? I think I did something to my- ow! My ankle.'

A grunt was Ryan's only response. 'Go see Lillian, she does healing pretty good. Get healthy. You won't want to miss the next bit.'

James nodded fervently and shot towards where Lillian was lecturing the first-years in a group down on the ground, it appeared one of them had somehow managed to lose control of his broom and crash into the Lake. Hopefully it was Al's competition for the Seeker spot.

'-not that difficult to just- James, hey! Oh my goodness, are you ok?'

Lillian's voice took on a touch of panic as James tried to land casually and professionally in front of all the gathered first-years, showing off his superior broom control, but his ankle completely gave out on him and he tumbled to the ground with a cry of pain.

'Did something to my ankle,' he managed through gritted teeth. 'Ryan said you were good at Healing spells.'

'Oh he did, did he?' Lillian asked, _blushing_ for some reason, and gazing up at where the older students were now going through a series of complex passing drills. 'Well, I mean I'm no slouch. Give me a look.'

James rolled up his trousers to reveal some pretty severe swelling. Lillian sucked in a breath through her teeth and withdrew her wand, muttering a series of very complex-sounding spells as she traced a pattern over James' skin. The lingering sensation tickled somewhat, but immediately the swelling began to recede, and the pain dulled.

'That should cover the worst of it, but make sure to go and see Madam Petheridge as soon as practice is over. She'll fix it properly, I think you've broken it. I'd send you there right away, but I'm sure you wouldn't want to miss the trial match.'

'Trial match?' James gasped. 'No way!'

He leapt onto his broom and shot up with a word of thanks yelled out over his shoulder as he left.

As the shadows lengthened and the sun began to creep ever closer to the mountaintops, the real competition for the three available Chaser spots began to open up. Abbey and Zanthia Fisher, who had played on the team last year when the Hydra had been suspended, were soon establishing themselves as clear front-runners. Both were built athletically, both had excellent brooms, and both handled the Quaffle with ease. They, like so many other siblings in the Quidditch world, seemed to possess that innate sense of unbreakable trust in each other, something that the Hydra had come close to emulating, and so their play – at least when they were together – was highly formidable. Their instinct for the game, and for each other's movements, was impressive, but separate them up and put them in solitary drills and they fell back to mere mediocrity, no longer able to rely on the intangible positive feedback they seemed to engender in one another.

Behind them – James couldn't deny that they _were_ behind the Fisher twins – there was a logjam of mediocre to moderate talent, all with some flashes of brilliance, but equally apparent drawbacks.

Devlin Boot favoured his right hand side too strongly. Eldon Prescott and Gemma Lewis both didn't quite seem at home on a broomstick the way the others did. Preston Lynch – despite his blindingly fast broomstick – had an aversion to passing the Quaffle. And then there was James. In his mind he knew that he was a better flier than all of them, but he couldn't quite seem to string it together into a winning performance throughout the drills. His injured foot kept nagging him, causing him to instinctively pull out of dives too soon, or accelerate too slowly. He kept shooting looks up to where Odette was sitting still in the front row of the D. L. Malfoy stand, once causing him to miss a pass from a frustrated Abbey Fisher.

By the time the Trial match rolled around, James was sweating bullets. He was certain that he had been underperforming, unable to distance himself from the rest of the competition, he now had to rely on his expert analysis and superior Quidditch intellect to win him the day, as his finesse on the broom had been letting him down consistently. He was partnered with Eldon and Gemma, with Anthony Harkness in goal and Archie and Will MacDougal touting the beaters' bats. They were up against the Fisher twins and Preston Lynch, who had Freddy and a fifth-year at Beater, and Bianca Pettit tending the goal hoops.

There were no Seekers for this game; their day was done. Diana Fairbourne and a half-dozen other prospects were now watching excitedly from the Gryffindor stands, alongside the first-years and Lillian Wood. Connor Flint was refereeing, with Ryan circling high above the playing field, inspecting everybody's form.

This was how Quidditch ought to be, James thought, grinning to himself. No Seeker nonsense messing with a solid Chasing game plan, no sudden and abrupt ends to the game as he was about to score a thrilling goal. No glory hounds on their flash brooms circling about doing none of the hard work. This was where Quidditch was won and lost; in the trenches.

Their team was at a clear disadvantage in the Chasing department, as much as it pained James to admit it. The Fisher twins were just _hot_ today, they had improved as the evening wore on, to the point where he was fairly certain that the remaining ten or so Chasers were all competing for the one spot. He wobbled a little on his broom at the thought of that. _Not_ something he wanted to be worrying about now.

Before he knew it the match had started; Ryan released the Quaffle from above, and Connor Flint set free the two Bludgers, one of which made a beeline straight for James. He ducked wildly, his heart in his mouth, and missed a pass from Eldon, which he shouldn't have thrown in the first place. James bit back on a curse and dove down after the streaking red blur, only to be beaten to the punch by Preston on his Nimbus superbroom. James copped a vicious elbow in the stomach for his efforts, and lost most of his momentum as Lynch streaked off towards the goal hoops.

The difference in their broom speeds was evident, as James quickly fell off the pace. Lynch ducked under a flailing arm from Gemma Lewis, and had only Anthony Harkness to beat. Zanthia Fisher was wide open for a free shot to his left, but he pitched up on his broom to nail the shot himself-

-and took a half-second too long on the release; a perfect bludger from Archie MacDougal slammed into Lynch's elbow, sending the Quaffle flying harmlessly into Anthony's waiting arms.

James received the pass from his Keeper, and tore off back up the pitch. Abbey Fisher was closing in from above, but he out-manoeuvred her with a simple One-touch, one-two pass with Eldon. A stray wrist from Abbey connected hard with James' jaw on her way past, and he instantly tasted the steely tang of blood in his mouth. Quaffle back in-hand, he ducked an easy Bludger sent his way by Fred and continued his forward advance up the pitch.

He felt, rather than saw, a presence bearing down on him from behind, and so dropped the Quaffle like a stone, where it fell into Gemma's waiting arms on a flawless cross-cut. Lynch, who had been about to close on James, collided with him roughly in mid-air, causing them to both lose momentum, and Connor to finally blow his whistle for a cobbing foul.

James spat a mouthful of blood and flashed Preston a nightmarish, red-stained grin.

As James had been fouled, he was the one to step up to take the shot. The entire game paused around him, as there was no snitch to look out for. A lone voice cheered out his name from the Gryffindor stands as he hovered on the penalty spot, facing down Bianca Pettit.

He knew from last year that Bianca favoured her right hand side, and he had beaten her on a number of occasions with his Norwegian No-lookers. He stared her down, his heart rate climbing, though it had nothing to do with exertion. She hovered back and forth slowly in front of the hoops, tracking the movements of his eyes with her broom.

As the sun just began to caress the tops of the far-off hills, and a light gust of wind stirred James' hair, he levered himself up on his broom to take the shot.

He threw it hard and straight, directly at Bianca where she hung before the central hoop. He smiled as she stayed static, expecting the Quaffle to fall into her waiting arms.

At the last moment, the spin James had put on his throw caused the Quaffle to dip to the left. Bianca cried out audibly, lunging clumsily down to try and make the save, but her fingers merely brushed the faded red leather, and it sailed right through the centre of the left hoop.

James punched the air in delight, but there was no time to celebrate, as the Quaffle was live again and Abbey Fisher was tearing off towards their goal. James pulled into a sharp turn to track her down and play a little defence, letting out another yell of enjoyment as he flew.

The match wore on in a similar manner. Tensions here high, every player desperate to make the team. James copped an elbow in the face from Zanthia shortly after his goal that sidelined him for a good ten minutes as Lillian tried to ease the swelling around his damaged eye. He hadn't realised just how _physical_ the game was. From the stands or through a pair of Omnioculars one simply didn't get an appreciation for the hard knocks that the players took. James was aching all over and this wasn't even a real game. It didn't help that he was probably the smallest out on the pitch, and everyone seemed desperate to use that against him. The Fisher twins in particular weren't pulling any punches – quite literally.

By the time James was able to re-enter the game, he could tell that the match was coming to an end. The sun had now sunk below the horizon, and visibility was fading fast. Dropped passes were becoming more and more common, which played into Preston Lynch's hands perfectly, as the Keepers were having equal difficulty locating the Quaffle in the low light. James cursed as he watched him score three times in a row from the sidelines, bringing the scores to level as James entered the arena, substituting in for a third-year who had been horrendously ineffective at marking Lynch.

James was instantly tossed into the action as a wild pass from Zanthia collided with a rogue Bludger and made its way into his hands. He took off on the offensive, scouting to see where Eldon and Gemma were located. Abbey was streaking towards him from the right, set to collide with a scary amount of force. He deftly ducked in behind Will MacDougal, who held his ground spectacularly. His much larger and more solid frame shrugged off the impact, causing Abbey to spiral off into the side of the Ravenclaw stand, dazed and possibly unconscious.

With three Chasers against two, James saw their opportunity. Archie followed up with a solid Bludger to veer Lynch wildly off course, and opening up a free lane for James towards the goal.

Not needing to be told twice, James lowered himself against his broom and tore off, Quaffle tucked safely under one arm. Zanthia was making her way over from the far side of the pitch, closing off James' path to the goal, but she was going to be too little too late. James lobbed an easy pass back over her head to a wide open Eldon. She sent a punitive kick his way, collecting with his tender ankle and causing him to cry out for a foul, pulling up and hovering on the spot in burning pain. Connor Flint, however, had his eyes elsewhere, and play continued on.

James hurried to catch up, as Preston dashed past him. All of a sudden their odds weren't looking so great. James was practically unable to fly, his teeth were gritted against the pain, his body hunched over. Eldon was quickly swamped by both Preston and Zanthia, the pass he threw in James' direction was a wild one.

As fast as his broom would allow, James shot forward to make the catch. He leaned out, at full extension over the front of the handle, causing the broom to dip dangerously. He felt, with a sickening sinking feeling, his fingers brush fruitlessly against the leather exterior, and groaned as it hurtled to the ground uselessly below him.

Before he even had a chance to make the dive to get it, and completely out of nowhere, Preston Lynch blurred past and caught it in open arms, shooting off up the field, now entirely unmarked, towards the goal. Fred chose that one moment to produce his finest shot of the night, and cracked Will MacDougal in the hand with a well-placed Bludger, just as he lined up for the hit.

In the fading, failing light Preston's sheer speed and poise was too much for the rookie Anthony, and his shot sailed past him with ease. James slapped the wood of his broomstick in defeat, cursing his slow broom, his small size, and those damned, dirty Fisher twins.

Fred came over to him as the group touched down at centre-field, all abuzz over his perfect, game-defining shot. He offered James a shoulder, but the pain was receding again, and he foolishly shrugged it off in sullen pride, limping to join the huddle instead.

Zanthia was busy crooning over Abbey, cradling her head in her hands and sorting out flyaway strands of her wild hair, and so neither of them saw the two-fingered salute that James offered up as the group gathered around Ryan, Connor and Lillian.

'Listen up!' Ryan barked. 'I saw some great flying out there today. A lot of you have got a future on this team, and I don't say that lightly. We've all been given plenty to think about, and the final list will be up on the Gryffindor notice board in the next couple of days, when we're good and sure about who we want on the team.

'Rest assured, that from what I saw today, that Cup is as good as ours.'

A few of the students cheered, and James managed a half-hearted smile. Fred offered his support again for the trudge back to the locker rooms, but James waved him off, content to linger back for a bit, maybe catch a little of what the team captain was thinking.

The excited chatter quickly began to fade into the gathering darkness as the group began to make their way to the changing sheds, all twittering excitedly about how they felt their respective sessions had gone, reliving every Feint and goal as if everyone there hadn't just experienced it too. James kicked at a scuffed patch of turf idly and made his way over to a stray Quaffle that caught his eye, looking a little forlorn behind the now-vacated Slytherin stand.

He bent down to scoop it up idly, feeling the comfortable weight in his palm. He gripped it with the tips of his fingers, flicking it back and forth between his hands, flirting with the maximum edges of what he could grip. Eventually, the Quaffle fell with a disappointing thud, back to the firm earth. James looked down sadly at his hands; just a little larger, his fingers just a little longer, and he would have had that catch.

He _knew_ he would have made that shot, too. Bianca had been caught napping, drifting too far out on the right-hand goal hoop. With both the wind and the sun on his side, it would have been a simple French Flick in through the left-hand goal to score what would have been the match-winner. He slapped the Quaffle hard as he picked it up again, annoyed at himself. The way Lynch had stolen that pass from right under his nose as well… It wasn't looking good.

He was looking down at the stitching on the Quaffle, recounting every mistake, every moment he had been even slightly out of position. He was tracing another particular route he had flown – known as the Seventh Ring of Hell – and recreating the spot where he had lost too much speed coming out of the dive, causing him to be late on a pass to an otherwise-open Gemma Lewis which would have been another easy goal.

With his attention elsewhere, he very nearly walked smack into the barrel-chested figure of Ryan O'Flaherty, the lone figure left out on the pitch.

'Thanks Potter,' he grunted.

James, looking up agape, and just held out the Quaffle into the Captain's waiting hand, where he took it and stowed it in the final storage crate. Ryan grunted and gestured with his head at the handle. James ducked down to grab one side of it, trying not to show just how damn heavy the thing was, and covering up his limp.

The pair walked in silence for a while. James thought to say something several times, to apologise, to let Ryan know that he _knew_ where he messed up today, and that he would do better next time if given the chance, but every time he ran it through his head his words sounded whiny and desperate, and so he contented himself with a silent limp-march, lugging the crate towards the storage shed beside the changing rooms.

'Flew well today, Potter,' Ryan eventually said, once the crate was locked away.

James' ears perked up at the commendation, and a smile split his face. A light, airy sensation blossomed in his chest, as he looked up at Ryan eagerly, hungry for more praise.

'You made a couple basic mistakes, and you _need_ to get yourself a better broom. Other than that, you might just shape up into a decent Chaser. How tall are you? What do you weigh?'

James stammered, momentarily taken aback. He had been about to try defend his pride and his broom, but Ryan's question had caught him off guard.

'Er… a metre forty-eight, I think. Thirty-eight kilos, Mum wei- I mean, I weighed myself last week.'

Ryan was quiet for a time as they approached the Gryffindor Locker rooms. When he spoke, his gruff tones were quieter, softer than their usual harsh growl.

'There's your real problem. You need to grow. You need _length_ , you need _weight_ to be a real star. Chasing is a physical game, Potter. We ain't like them Seeker fairies, we hit hard. We take hits. Do a bit of growing. That Lynch kid, he's got the length for it. He's a prat, but he's got the size.'

James sighed in defeat, his balloon of hope well and truly deflating within his chest. He looked down at his shoes as they walked up the tunnel to the junction between the boys' and girls' changing rooms. He felt sick; he _knew_ what he could have done to out-fly Lynch on the pitch today. If he just had the opportunity to go back and do it again, he'd nail it for sure.

 _But you can't gain an extra few inches or kilograms overnight, can you?_ A malicious voice seemed to whisper in the back of his head. James remained silent, and only nodded in mute response. The way he saw it, that was as good of a sign as any from Ryan that he hadn't made the team. He heard movement from up ahead. Great, just what he needed; Preston Lynch to be lingering behind doors, listening in on their conversation.

But this was no Preston Lynch.

James had fallen a half-step behind Ryan, and his broad body was partially obscuring him from view as a figure rounded the corner out of the girls changing rooms.

'Oh, hi Ryan. I didn't see you th- _eek!_ _James! What are you still doing here?'_

James just gaped, open mouthed, caught in between taking in the sight before him and _desperately_ trying to look anywhere else in the narrow confines of the tunnel.

Lillian Wood had – for reasons unknown to man or beast – decided to walk _out_ of the girls' changing room, despite the fact that the two of them were _quite clearly_ still in the tunnel, and meet them wearing… well, pretty much _nothing._

Tiny spandex exercise shorts were doing an abysmal job at covering up her long, slender legs, and her desperately clutching arms were not doing _any_ sort of job at covering her _completely exposed_ upper body.

She was backing up rapidly, and between her and Ryan there was a lot of spluttering going on, but not a lot in the way of cohesive sentences.

James was trying _so hard_ to look elsewhere, but like some sort of magnet, his eyes kept being torn back to stare. She had _abs_. He didn't even want to know about what else she had, slightly higher up, that she was doing a poor job of covering. James took a single step backwards, then another. Lillian reached out in apology, calling out after him, but simultaneously exposing _everything._ James let out a strangled yell; they were right there, _staring_ at him. He turned and fled wildly up the hall, as he heard Ryan's angry voice yelling out behind him.

'What the hell were you _thinking_ Lil? There are _kids_ here. That's appalling!'

The shouts faded as James hobbled as fast as he could to the Hospital wing, in desperate need of something to numb the pain, and ideally make him forget the past few minutes of his life.


	5. Chapter 5 - Work

_A/N: I have returned! Never for a moment think that I had abandoned you, dear reader. I had merely to attend to that nagging, cloying mistress that is real life. And now I am a married man, and there is a new chapter of JSP's adventures awaiting you; all is right in the world! I shall keep you no longer, dive in to find out what's got Zoe's knickers in a knot, why Renshaw keeps painting her nails and to find out if Gryffindor will ever name the team!_

* * *

'… and so you see, Younglings, that is why wand movements are so important, and why they must be so precise each time. For we do not _create_ the magic, we but channel it, we direct the raging torrent in the most delicate and precise of ways. Do not for a second think that we are masters of it, for the moment you believe that will be your undoing.

'Note also, that each time a spell is cast, the magic _remembers._ Each time you bring the magic forth into our world, onto our plane of existence, it recalls the path which it took to get there. Because of this, each time we cast a spell, we validate that path. We reinforce it, making it stronger. This is why spellcrafting is such a dangerous profession. A new spell has not learned, the magic does not _know_ what is required of it. The Crafter must have the strongest of wills to force the magic to take the shape he or she desires, for they must be the pioneers to set the path that the magic must take. Magic is fickle and greedy; one wrong move will draw forth more power than any man or woman could handle, burning them out in an instant, and possibly creating a violent explosion.'

James started as the class shifted around him; parchment rustled and hissed, and a multitude of tiny, musical clinks sounded as quills were dipped into inkwells. He looked around, dazed. Evidently they were meant to be writing something down; he couldn't recall a single word that Professor Reedman had said.

He had that effect, did the professor. A large, barrel-chested old wizard, well into his twilight years now, but with a presence that bespoke a past of real power, mostly gone to seed. A rich grey beard was tucked into his straining belt, and a thick mat of tightly curled, steely hair showed forth from where a button or two too many were left undone on his robe.

He had the slightly patronising habit of calling all of the students 'Youngling' and James was fairly certain that he didn't know a single one of their names. He also very much talked _at_ them, rather than _to_ them during classes, to a point where James found it increasingly difficult to take in all of the highly technical information that was being tossed his way.

He should have been more wary when he saw the class appear on his schedule: _Theory_ of Magic. One of Renshaw's two new mandatory classes, and the reason for an extra hour and a half of schooling each day. Cassie wouldn't stop raving about it. As far as James was concerned, the jury was well and truly still out.

It didn't help that he was currently alone in the class. Fred, Clip and Cat, as well as Tristan had been violently ill all week, unable to attend classes. Nobody had been able to confirm the source of the illness, but James had a sneaking suspicion that Hagrid's "new recipe" Basilisk Brownie might _actually_ have had a little bit of Basilisk in them. James had conveniently forgot to pass on his parent's warning about Hagrid's cooking to his friends when they paid the Groundskeeper a visit last weekend, and while he had managed to toss his portion out the window when nobody was looking, the others had muddled through what looked like a chewy, cloying, pungent experience and had since paid the ultimate price.

As James checked the clock and realised that they weren't even halfway through the lesson, he let out a mournful groan, nearly waking Holly from where she was sound asleep next to him. If he hadn't seen firsthand what was coming out of his friends – from both ends, mind – he might just have envied them their absence at that point.

Like all forms of torture are wont to do, the class eventually came to an end, but with a cruel twist of fate Professor Reedman assigned them an alarming amount of homework: He supplied them with manuscripts for a spell, with two separate wand movements and identical incantations. Their job was to both find out what the spell was for, and which of the two wand movements was correct, _and then_ write three feet of parchment on their observations and conclusions.

James felt like he was about to start vomiting bright green chunks by that point, too.

Dinner was a hasty affair; James plonked himself down next to Al and Rose, and instantly regretted his decision.

'- how _awesome_ are the extra classes?' Rose was saying. James put his head in his hands, while Al nodded fervently around a mouthful of pumpkin juice.

'I can't wait to get started on that essay for-'

'Hey Al, you excited to see if you made the team?' James interrupted firmly. He felt like his whole life was taken up by classes these days; he didn't need to be talking about it around the dinner table as well.

'Oh, er… yea, I guess so. When do they usually put the team up?'

James frowned, a slice of shepherd's pie halfway to his mouth.

'I… dunno. Usually it's up by now, it's been a week since the trial. Not sure what's taking them so long.'

'Scorpius Malfoy said that the Slytherins had already named their team,' Rose piped up.

'What you doing talking to him?' James queried.

Her cheeks flushed, and she suddenly became very interested in the contents of her own goblet.

'Nothing… Just something I overheard,' she mumbled.

James rolled his eyes, and promptly pushed himself up to leave when the conversation turned back to fifty shades of homework. He saw Holly doing the same over at the Slytherin table, and strode to meet her at the door to the Great Hall.

'Ready?' she asked with a grin, patting her satchel bag, which jangled and clunked heavily.

'Ergh,' James replied.

Truth was, it was the absolute last thing on the planet that he felt like doing. Six thirty in the evening and he was off to do _more_ classes. Damn Renshaw's new lessons, damn her new clubs and damn her stupid brands which wouldn't stop itching! The group were constantly tired – Holly had slept solid all through Reedman's class – not to mention irritable, swamped by work and with next to no time to actually socialise. James was certain it was an unfair amount of work to be dumping on twelve and thirteen year old children; Hogwarts was beginning to feel more like a concentration camp than the magical school it had been for them last year.

'Is it just me?' James asked as they made their way down the front steps, squinting into the setting sun as it blasted through a nearby window right into their vision. 'Am I the only one who feels like they're just staying afloat in this stupid new scheme? I feel like I haven't seen you guys at all since we've been back, and I've barely managed to get above an "Acceptable" on any of my assignments. I didn't think things got this hard until O.W.L year.'

'Hmm,' Holly responded thoughtfully. 'Not to mention Odette Bloody Mansfield waking the entire dorm up at six o'clock each morning to train the Quidditch squad.'

James groaned. At this rate they weren't even going to _have_ a team come next week.

Annoyingly, Professor Longbottom was in great spirits as the pair entered the greenhouse right on six-thirty.

'James Potter! Welcome to Potter's Paradise, you should feel right at home!'

A round of snickers from the gathered students. James rolled his eyes and moaned internally.

'I was hoping we'd see you here, Miss Brooks. Come, pop on up to the front here, there's still a couple of stools available!'

James had been hoping to catch up on a bit of shuteye during Herbology club, but that plan looked like it was being fed to the Tentacula as they made their way to sit directly under Professor Longbottom's nose.

'Cake?' he offered them as they sat down.

A small tray of vivid green cupcake, all decorated as different species of plant, floated over to them. Some swayed in an imaginary breeze, and the one that Holly chose emitted a little 'squee' noise as she popped it into her mouth.

James, who had had enough of bright green things _and_ his parents' friends' cooking, graciously declined the offer.

'Now welcome everybody to the inaugural Hogwarts Herbology Club meeting! I'm so _excited_ to have you all here.' The way the professor was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet was a bit of a giveaway on that particular statement. 'Now this isn't meant to be structured like a lesson, and we have a range from first to fourth years in this class, so there will be a great variety in levels of knowledge.

'What I really want to achieve with this class is to pass on my love and excitement for Herbology to you all. So we will sit around, sip some cups of tea, look at plants and discuss things related to Herbology that interest everybody. There will be no homework, nor assignments, simply a group of people gathering to talk about magical flora and share a passion.'

On the surface, James nodded and smiled encouragingly. Inside, he dropped his head into his palm in despair. Holly's silver-grey eyes were shining with unbridled enthusiasm, even through the red rims and heavy, bruised bags that adorned each one courtesy of a lack of sleep.

Great; he was surrounded by a bunch of tree-hugging weirdos.

'Now,' continued Professor Longbottom, 'the most common question that I get asked during classes is: "What are those?" referring to the myriad plants adorning the walls of the greenhouse. During class we simply don't have the time to discuss each and every one, but tonight I have gathered an array from each of the greenhouses, and we will go through some of the more exciting ones, and have a look at what they do. But first, tea!'

A great tray rose up from beneath the table, clattering and gliding a little drunkenly around in front of the students, who each helped themselves to a steaming hot beverage.

'What's that one do?' A tiny first-year piped up, the moment the tray was set back down. His fingers were pointing shakily at what looked to be a battered, gnarled old tree stump, sitting atop the bench. It was the only plant not currently in a pot of some description, and James had previously dismissed it as just a lump of scrap, dead wood.

'A keen eye, you have, Mister Benson,' Professor Longbottom chuckled, 'this is a Snargaluff plant. Ordinarily I would only show this to the sixth years and above, but I thought I might bring it out as a bit of a treat for you all. Er, Mister Potter, Miss Brooks. If you could help me for a second?'

From the corner of his eye James saw the evillest, most wicked smile begin to spread across Holly's face. James could actually feel the colour draining from his own.

'Not to worry, this one's an old one. Past it's prime, not as fast or spiny as some of the others in Greenhouse three!'

Fast _and_ spiny? What exactly was it that this dead-looking stick thing _did?_

As the Professor explained, James felt his mouth dropping open, and he started shooting scowls at Holly, who was very pointedly ignoring him. Smugness was radiating off of her in tangible waves. Nobody in the class seemed to want to catch James' eye as Neville gestured them up to the front of the class to help him with the Snargaluff.

'…when this section right _here_ opens up, you'll put your arm in and grab the pod, it should be about the size of a grapefruit. When you pull it out, the vines will retract.'

Holly had that wild look on her face; like the one she got when she stepped forth onto the duelling platform, or the moment before she had leaned in and _kissed_ James at the end of their first year. He scowled at her. He didn't need to be thinking about _that_ right now, this plant looked gross enough as it was.

James was currently feeling very strongly in favour of feeding Holly to the Giant Squid for making him sign up for this stupid club. He rolled his sleeves up and donned his dragonhide gloves as they approached the front of the glass where the Snargaluff plant lay, ominous in its immobility.

'On my count then,' Professor Longbottom said cheerily, 'three, two, one, go!'

Neville reached out and rapped the plant sharply with his wand. It sprang to life at once with alarming alacrity, shooting out a pair of vines – one tangled itself in Holly's hair, and the other was trying to snake its way around James midsection. Tiny spines were digging into him, pinpricks of blood welling up through the thick cloth of his robe. He tugged violently on the vine, Neville reached in and deftly cracked it at the base, causing it to let go of James, who staggered backward a step. He spied an opening and dove forwards. The professor fought back three vines by himself. Holly was practically useless, any move she made caused the vine to tangle itself further in her hair, but shockingly, she was _laughing_. James reached out and thudded the base of that vine. Holly staggered free, lunging at the plant with an angry snarl. A thorny whip flashed past his vision, leaving a streamer of blood blossoming on his cheek. He shot his arm out, straight into the opening, feeling the warm, gently pulsating orb beneath his fingers. The second he snapped it back out again, the plant froze, vines retracting instantly, cracking back to leave it once more looking like a dried, dead tree-stump, wobbling slightly on the table before them.

James held the pod aloft to cheers from the class. For just a moment, he reckoned he knew what it felt like to be a Seeker catching the snitch.

Glory-hounds, the lot of them.

James shot her with a friendly elbow in the ribs as they sat back down.

' _Now_ we are even,' Holly grinned. 'You should have seen your face.'

James just stuck out his tongue and threw a nearby handful of Dragon Dung her way.

Blessedly, the rest of the class was a little less hands-on, as Professor Longbottom went around briefly describing each of the plants arrayed before them, no more hands-on work required. He paused briefly on a vine-like plant called Poseidon's Garden, which looked like a tangled mass of dirty brown roots growing inside of a glass-walled container. He levitated over a nearby watering can, upending the contents into the pot.

The class gasped as the plant absorbed the moisture, up to the point where it began to swell slightly. It took on a greenish-blue hue, and – pulsating softly – began to repel the water around it creating a small bubble of air inside the pot. Any more water that the Professor tipped in simply splashed over the edges, unable to penetrate the plant's defences.

By the end of the club James was stuffed full of various cakes and treats, having caved to Holly's incessant nagging that he eat something. His bladder was full to bursting with that damnable tea, and his eyes were drooping heavily in their sockets.

Holly wrapped him up in a crushing hug where they parted at the base of the stairs, almost engendering what would have been a most embarrassing accident.

'Thanks for coming,' she whispered into his ear, and when she pulled away she was wearing a genuine smile, and her eyes shone with happiness.

It suited her far better than the half-crazed wicked grins she seemed to so favour.

Up in his dormitory James hastily threw off his dirty, muddy robes. A small trail of blood was still weeping from the cuts on his arm, and he grabbed the nearest available tool to mop it up: Cat's issue of the Quibbler on kissing Nargles. He ripped out a handful of pages, sticking them to his arm to stem the bleeding. For good measure he tossed them and the rest of the magazine into the waste bin once he was satisfied he wouldn't make a mess of the sheets.

A single sheet of glossy paper fell from the pile to land on the floor beneath James' bed. A silver-blue title winked playfully in the last of the firelight:

 _Dozens Missing in Atlantic Adventure, part of Ministry Cover-up of the Decade: Wild Weather or Galled Gods?_

James didn't even register it as he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

The run of painful classes continued on Thursday morning with Defence Against the Dark Arts. Professor Meadows was a shadow of the teacher that she had been last year. She had gone from a crowd favourite, to almost unanimously disliked across all year groups. She showed up to classes late, snapped at the students for ninety minutes, _always_ took a ton of house points from anyone who so much as made a peep out of line, and then sent them on their way with an amount of homework that seemed just plain cruel.

Bearing the brunt of this grouchy new Professor was one James Potter. She largely refused flat-tack to interact with him, but when she did it was short, sharp and usually resulted in James losing points for Gryffindor. She wouldn't make eye contact with him, and instead talked over his head. He had tried to reach out to her one time, and ask her what was wrong. He still felt lucky to have escaped the room with all of his limbs still attached.

Despite all of this, James still wouldn't hear a word against her. He was _certain_ that the old Zoe Meadows was in there somewhere. Behind all of the poorly-applied make-up and the smeared lipstick was the bright and bubbly young girl who had been his favourite professor for the entirety of his first year. Everything that she did had always been so vivacious, so full of energy; whether it was cracking a rude joke about Fred's misfired spell, or fighting against the very wards of Hogwarts herself. Every step – be it with flesh or with wood – was so packed full of life. To see her so drained and despairing made something inside James ache for her loss.

He frowned at Fred – the first back on his feet following the Great Brownie debacle.

'Just give it _time_ ,' James urged, yet again. 'She'll come around. I might try talk to her again after class. We're doing _Expelliarmus_ today, there's no _way_ I can mess this up.'

Fred grunted, unimpressed. 'We've almost given her two weeks already. Tristan said that they're usually only grumpy for a week at most. There's got to be something else wrong. I suggest turning her leg into a giant snake and have it strangle her a little bit, might squeeze out the moodiness.'

James sighed audibly, just as the door to the class flung open, crashing against the wall. In stalked Professor Zoe Meadows – all five and a half feet of her. Step-clunk, step-clunk. Her one wooden leg echoed ominously throughout the hushed classroom. Her robe hung limply from her shoulders, her blouse had clearly been hastily buttoned, and hung loose from her skirt. It seemed odd to see her without her usual shocking pink lipstick, and her red-rimmed eyes showed none of the usual sheen of dark mascara. Those eyes focused on James for a heartbeat, and he felt his breath catch in his throat. He could feel the dismissal in her gaze as she carried past him without so much as a "good morning" and seated herself at her desk, her head cradled in her hands.

The students shared confused looks as Professor Meadows slowly massaged her temples, a scowl twisting her features.

'She's gone 'round the twist, I'm telling you,' Fred muttered in James' ear.

'Weasley, get up here,' Professor Meadows growled.

James' jaw dropped. Fred's eyes bulged in fear, desperately darting towards the door.

'Don't make me ask again.'

Professor Meadows was standing now, leaning heavily on the desk for support, her wand in one hand. Friendships be damned, James gave Fred a nudge as he stood, and received a death-stare for his efforts.

'The disarming charm,' Professor Meadows barked. ' _Expelliarmus!'_

Fred, who had barely put one foot onto the raised pedestal at the front of the room was sent careening by the power of her spell, crashing into a rather unforgiving-looking stack of books next to the pile of pillows that had obviously been brought out for this task.

James knew how good Zoe Meadows was with a wand; if Fred had hit those books it was because she had wanted him to. A small frown creased his brow as Fred pushed himself up a little shakily. Thankfully he gritted his teeth and kept his mouth shut.

'That's what it looks like. Short, sharp wand movements; crisp, compact diction. Stressing the penultimate syllable. You all should have read the appropriate chapters in the books. If you haven't you're about to learn the hard way. Pair up!'

On that last command, she brandished her wand and the desks jumped hastily to the sides of the room, crashing into a great splintered heap, knocking over several students on their path. James helped up a slightly frightened-looking Leah Ridley, his frown deepening. He could put up with grouchiness and being snapped at, but if she was hurting students _and_ ruining the lesson he had looked forward to all week, he was fairly certain his patience was going to wear thin _very_ quickly.

'What's gotten into her?' Leah asked, shooting a furtive glance at their scowling teacher.

James shrugged, unwilling to say much for fear of further retribution. 'Do you wanna partner up?'

Leah's face lit up and she gave an excited little hiccup. 'Ooh yes please. Wait 'til I tell Rosie, she's going to be _so_ jealous.'

'Er…' James said awkwardly, running a hand through his hair.

Leah grabbed him by the hand and led him over to the back of the classroom, nearest the exit. They were as far away from Professor Meadows as it was possible to get. He didn't miss the nervous glances Leah kept flicking in her direction as they practiced their wand movements together, and he saw the way the students flinched back each time she approached, none wanting to invoke her ire.

James felt his general frustration at everything so far this term drawing a focus. His annoyance at the extra classes, the unfair amounts of homework, those _stupid_ clubs, the fact that Gryffindor _still_ hadn't chosen a team and the game was now less than a week away, all of it was beginning to direct itself at Zoe Meadows.

He had stuck up for her all term, and this was how she repaid him? Terrorizing their class? Scaring the students so much that they could hardly cast a spell? It was like one of Uncle Ron's stories about Professor Snape that he always told when James' father was out of the room.

By now the class had more or less all partnered up. James had lost Fred in the madness, but caught him being frogmarched over to Preston Lynch, holding his arm tenderly. His scowl cut even deeper lines into his forehead.

Leah took a few steps back, making sure to arrange their cushion directly behind James. 'I think I'd cry if I hurt James Potter!' she had squeaked. Truth be told, James didn't hold out a lot of hope for her; her wand movements were a little sloppy, and she couldn't quite get the tight spiral that was required, instead overcompensating by flourishing too much at the end of the incantation, causing little more than a shower of silver sparks to sputter lamely from the end of her wand each time.

' _Expelliarmus!'_ she cried with enthusiasm. James felt nothing. She looked a little crestfallen, but James gave her an encouraging smile, motioning for her to try again.

' _ExpelliARMus!'_ possibly the slightest of breezes, but that equally could have come in through the open window.

'Almost there,' he offered hopefully.

' _EXPELLILARMUS!'_ Leah shrieked as loud as she could, even going so far as to spring into the air upon casting the spell.

Unfortunately, her muddled incantation together with the erratic wand movements caused a violent _bang_ , and a small bundle of robes containing Leah Ridley to whizz through the air and land on the pillow meant for Eldon Prescott, a good five yards away. James rushed over to his partner, pocketing his wand.

'Potter! Ten points from Gryffindor for allowing your partner to be harmed. You of all people should know better.'

He spun wildly to face the professor, outrage blossoming at the sheer unfairness of that call. Her back was already to him. Preston Lynch caught his eye and snickered. James returned a two-finger salute and bent down to help a dazed Leah.

Fortunately, little more than her pride was damaged, though her spirits lifted dramatically as James set about helping her on her wandwork. He positioned himself behind her, reaching forward to gently take her hand and guide her through the motions. Irritatingly, she didn't appear to be paying much attention, and kept sighing dreamily, and asking James if he liked her new perfume.

After a good ten minutes of this with no noticeable change – other than the increasing dirty looks from Rosalie Gardner across the room – James gave it up as a bad job and asked if he could try the spell on her. With a bit of luck he could catch the Professor's eye and earn back some of those house points.

Leah tittered nervously at the suggestion. 'You can do whatever you like, James. How do you want me?'

'Er… just over there, by the pillows. Standing like that, erm… you can probably keep your robe on, that's fine.'

Why did he always get the feeling that every girl in the school was in on some secret joke that he was yet to figure out?

He paced out the distance between them, and levelled his wand, making sure Leah would land on the pillows if he did knock her down. She was giggling a little nervously, and looking very coy. He wished she'd stop; he was finding it hard to concentrate.

Wand at his side, he rolled his shoulders to ease the tension that had built up from the beginning of the class. He cast his gaze about the room to see Professor Meadows working with Lynch and Fred. She disarmed Freddy again – a little more gently, this time. James watched as his friend bent to pick up his wand, and just as Meadows turned her back Lynch lowered his own, right at Fred.

James instinctively whipped his arm up in a tight arc, crying _'Expelliarmus!'_ and levelling his wand directly at Lynch.

The spell winked out with a whip-like _crack_ before it even reached him, and the professor rounded on James, murder in her eyes.

'Potter, what _the hell_ was that?'

'Lynch was going to-'

'Lynch was going to do _what?_ ' She limped across the classroom to loom over James. Up close she smelled a little like flowers, but a lot more like his dad's favourite Firewhiskey. 'What the _hell_ was Lynch about to do that could _possibly_ warrant you trying to hit him with a cheap shot from across the room?'

She was properly yelling now, with a fury that James' hadn't seen since they had ventured to the Heart together to upgrade the wards. He took an involuntary step back.

'Get out of my sight, Potter. You make me sick. _Twenty_ points from Gryffindor, and get out of my class. Now.'

James stood, dumbstruck. The entire class was silent, and he could feel their eyes boring into him, the pressure building to near breaking point. He didn't know what was worse; Lynch's smug grin or Leah's pitying gaze. He felt his cheeks burning, and the corner of his eyes began to sting.

'Professor, that's not fair!' Fred cried. 'He was just trying to help! He-'

' _OUT!_ You too, Weasley, and you can take another twenty points with you. I don't want to see either of you again, you disgust me!'

Not a word was uttered as the pair fetched their things and made their way from the room. Nobody would look at them, no one wanted to so much as catch their eye for fear of a similar fate. A few students were looking annoyed, fifty points from Gryffindor in a single lesson was a huge early blow in the race for the House Cup. James was currently too annoyed to care.

Meadows marched them to the door, and just as they were about to leave James turned around, and in a voice quiet enough so that only she could hear he said the meanest, cruellest thing he could think of.

'I can see why Teddy left.'

The door slammed shut with such force as to knock him to the ground, cracking his elbow hard and forcing him to fight back tears that threatened to well up.

On the other side of the door, a certain Defense Professor was having far less luck in that regard.

The two boys picked themselves up off of the cold tiles and shared a confused glance.

'So, erm… what do we do now?' Fred asked cautiously, as if Professor Meadows could somehow hear them through the thick, oaken door.

'I don't- argh!' James exclaimed, clutching a hand to his forearm. A sharp stinging sensation was lancing repeatedly up his arm. He ripped up his sleeve to see his brand glowing an angry red. The numbers 769 standing out, slightly ridged against the soft flesh of his arm, like gnarled old scar tissue.

'What the hell!' Fred cried angrily, peering it. He held out a finger to touch it, but James winced back instinctively.

Before either of them could ponder over it any further, a small fluttering sound reached their ears, and a neatly folded, winged sheaf of parchment drifted down to hover like a tiny, faded brown bird right at James' eye level. He snatched at it angrily, tearing it slightly as he unfolded it.

 _Student 769_

 _Mister Potter,_

 _My office, immediately,_

 _Exasperatedly yours,_

 _Galatea Renshaw_

Thewriting was followed by the most flowery, ornate signature that James had ever seen. He swallowed, hard. His anger beginning to abate, fast replace with nervousness.

'You know what this means?' Fred asked, an icy cast to his voice.

James shook his head, teeth gritted. He wasn't sure if he was able to speak.

'This is war, James. There's no standing up for Meadows any more, and you know it. We have to do something about it, about _all_ of it. Renshaw in particular. Dad was furious when he found out she got the gig. He's sent me some stuff. A _lot_ of stuff. Better not talk about it now. We'll meet up, Saturday night in the Waterfall Room. Nobody is ever in there on the weekends.'

He turned to leave, headed up towards the common room, leaving James with little more than a tight grimace and a squeeze on the shoulder.

'Good luck,' he said with an apologetic shrug.

The slow march to the Headmistress' office seemed to take most of the morning. James' sense of dread was growing ever stronger, and seemed to be in tune with his brand, which was itching more and more as he approached. Before he reached the staircase, classes finished, and the halls were briefly overrun by a surge of students. He allowed himself to drift on the current for a little while, caught up in the rushing swirls and eddies of the flow of humanity, peering into faces as he went, trying to find the excitement, the joy and the happiness that he knew Hogwarts was all about.

Instead he found tight eyes, harried expressions and irritable temperaments.

This wasn't Hogwarts; this wasn't the premier magical school in Britain. There was nothing _magic_ about being so snowed down with work that you had no time to relax. There was nothing magic about spending weekends locked in a tiny, stuffy room, writing out line after line onto dusty old parchment while the last of the summer sun came and went behind curtained windows. There was certainly nothing magic about falling asleep in class from sheer exhaustion, getting snapped at, and thrown extra homework for not paying attention, only for the cycle to repeat itself over and over.

He had only been at school for two weeks, but it felt more like two months.

When he arrived at the staircase to the Headmistress' office, he found the staircase gave way at his touch, drawing him up slowly like some excruciating escalator. By the time he reached the top he was feeling ill, though it had nothing to do with the motion.

The broad wooden doors stood large and implacable before him. The polished wood gleamed and flickered ominously in the dim candlelight, reflecting his own ghostly silhouette. He raised a hand to knock, but they again gave way before him, and he found himself drawn inwards to the office of Miss Galatea Renshaw.

As he looked around the room a little sheepishly, he couldn't help but draw comparisons to the way that Headmistress McGonagall had kept it on his trip the year prior. Where McGonagall's room had been warm and inviting, Renshaw's was cold and clinical. Where McGonagall had kept the walls adorned with portraits and pictures of her friends from before the war, the walls in Renshaw's office were stark and bare, almost militaristic. Adorned with only a few sputtering torches. The portraits of the old Heads of School were gone. Where, James had no idea, but he felt at a loss, not being able to look up and see at least one familiar face in this foreign space.

His footsteps echoed on the polished hardwood floors; no longer covered in the thick, plush carpet favoured by McGonagall. The walk up to her desk felt like an eternity, and all the while Renshaw just sat back, studying him with an intense gaze. She was wearing her loose black silks again, this time unbuttoned at the front to reveal a flowing white undershirt. A pair of black lacy gloves lay folded neatly atop the bare desk, and perfectly manicured nails painted with black lacquer tapped a steady rhythm on the wooden surface.

James came to a stop in front of her desk. Still she remained unmoving but for her nails clacking away ceaselessly. The sound was grating on James' nerves. He wished she would just say something – anything. If she was going to yell at him, he'd rather just get it over and done with. He hardly thought it fair that Professor Meadows had sent him here in the first place, though what did the professors know about _fair._

James couldn't tell if the Headmistress was _smiling_ at him. Her lips were set in a sort of half-smile-half-pout, like she knew a joke that he didn't. Her eyes were flickering, but he did not know her well enough to discern if it was from mirth of from anger. Her cheeks were smooth, slightly flushed, defying the reports that placed her age at anywhere from sixty to six hundred years old.

Eventually, the final drumbeat sounded, and those nails stopped _clack-clacking._ A single finger was raised to her mouth, the nail shining deep purple now in the flash of sunlight streaming in through the window. She traced along her lower lip, painted a deep, rich red. James swallowed nervously once more, but remained silent. She looked for all the world as if she were sizing him up to eat him.

'Seldom has a single student lost fifty house points in one week, Mister Potter. Especially when that week is not even complete. I daresay we would have to look back to the days of the great Harry Potter to find someone with such a… patchy history in regards to discipline.'

Her voice was soft and silken, sliding right over James, sending goosebumps all down his spine. He shivered involuntarily, despite the warm late-morning sun.

'The loss of fifty or more house points within a month of schooling sends an automatic summons to my office, for immediate disciplinary action. Usual punishments are detention, suspension from all school sporting teams… expulsion.'

It were as if someone had just poured ice water down his spine. James stepped back in alarm, his mouth dropping open at the mention of expulsion. How would he explain that to his parents? They'd kill him, he was positive.

'Do not worry, Mister Potter. I am not here to expel you,' James breathed a heavy sigh of relief as the Headmistress rose fluidly to her feet, gliding around the table, rolling up the delicately embroidered sleeves of her robe, revealing pale, milky skin that glistened in the sunlight. 'Take a seat.'

She gestured, and a chair which had not been present prior, zoomed in to knock James' legs out from under him, causing him to fall flat on his bottom with a small 'oof.' He tried to spin and face Renshaw as she flowed around behind him, and froze when he felt her touch on his shoulder; gentle, yet firm as a vice-grip.

'It can be hard adapting to something new. I myself have had to do so several times over the course of my life. We all deal with change… differently. We must come to grips with what that change means for us, and how we choose to react to it can very well define us in the months and years that follow. There is a lot of change happening at Hogwarts this year, Mister Potter. For all of us.

'Professor Meadows is going to be an outstanding Defence teacher one day, of that I can assure you. Right now, however, she is dealing with several issues on a… _personal_ level. She no longer sees the world in the same was that she once did. If you'll pardon the horrid pun, she has had one of the core pillars of foundation removed from her life. She has spent the last few years trying to rebuild. She chose to place her happiness and stability in the hands of another, and that act – not the individual – is what has betrayed her. She perhaps doesn't have the same mental fortitude to deal with these problems as other do, but who can blame her.

'Do you understand where I am going with this, Mister Potter?'

James couldn't have had less of a clue if she had just spoken to him in Gobbledegook. 'Erm…'

'It means do _not_ provoke Professor Meadows while she is unstable, or your next trip up here will be far. Less. Pleasant.'

She punctuated each word by tightening her grip on James' shoulder, to the point where he was having to force himself not to squirm from the pain. She released him, tracing one of those painted nails softly along his jawline, almost like his mother would do when she tucked him in to bed.

'You must choose how you accept this change, Mister Potter. You can no longer continue to be a disruption in classes. I guarantee you that you will not get by on a string of "Acceptable's" and that winning smile.'

She spoke directly into his ear now. He could feel the warm wash of her breath on his neck, and it made him shudder uncomfortably.

'There's too much work,' James blurted out. 'There's extra classes and clubs and more homework. _Everyone_ looks tired, this is way harder than we had to work last year. No one has any time to relax or even _sleep,_ it's not fair on us!'

Renshaw straightened. James couldn't see her face, but he could imagine the small smile playing coyly at the corner of her lips.

'The game has changed, Mister Potter. This is chess that we play, not checkers. It is high time you adapted accordingly.'

Her fingers began to work on his shoulders now, that same enervating massage that she had given him in the Great Hall. He felt his mind wandering, as his body melded into her touch, to the point where he wasn't certain that he knew where his neck ended and her fingers began.

'Is this… because of… last year,' he managed to force out.

Her grip momentarily tightened, shattering the façade and dragging James back to the surface for a brief, lucid moment. _Rain._ She owed him an explanation. Something more than Renshaw had given him at the end of the year. Was it _her_ that was hiding something? Was she-

And then her fingers began to work again, and that train of thought was derailed all together.

'In part, Mister Potter, yes. I will not lie to you. Gears are slow to turn in the wizarding world, but turn they do. Those of questionable scruples do not ever sleep, and nor shall I. Worry not, for whatever danger should arise, you shall find me standing firm between it and you. Between _all_ of my students.

'There are things happening across the world that we must be aware of, must be wary of. I shall tell you this, Mister Potter, before I leave you: My return to England was not by chance.

'Now go, head along, if you are quick you will catch the last of lunch before afternoon classes. I will speak to Miss Meadows and ensure that you are welcome in her class once more.'

Something that she had said was stirring a recent memory in James. Things… happening around the world. Things that he ought to be wary of. He shook the troubling thought as he made his way down the stairs, all trace of fatigue now well and truly cleansed from his body.


	6. Chapter 6 - Heels

_A/N: And we are back to a more regular update schedule! It's Quidditch time; will James make the team? How will the mighty Hydra fare this season? And what is **with** Odette's heels? Read on to find out!_

* * *

The gentle patter of water cascading down the walls filled James' ears as he lay back on the thickly carpeted floor. All around him moonlight danced fitfully about the room as it was reflected and refracted through each of the hundred waterfalls that lined the space. Like thousands of brilliant silver fairies, the shards of light zipped about playfully, beating an unsteady rhythm into the lids of his closed eyes.

An owl hooted near the window outside, and James straightened, curious. He started as the door to the room opened behind him, allowing in a flaring arc of torchlight from the passage beyond. The silhouette of a hooded figure coalesced as James' eyes re-accustomed to the darkness.

' _Lumos,'_ hissed a familiar voice.

Fred Weasley's olive skin was illuminated in the light from his wand-tip, casting his face in a most conspiratorial and ominous light – rather fitting for their meeting this night.

James looked on in silence as Fred glided into the room. He set his infamous satchel bag down on the ground before him. James' eyebrows rose as Fred leaned down and reached into it, right up to his shoulder. If he wasn't careful it looked as if he would be in danger of falling into it. Several candles emerged, and Fred muttered a hushed _'Wingardium Leviosa.'_

All around them, in a loose circle, the candles floated as one. It was an impressive display of magic from Fred – to manipulate so many objects at one time was no easy feat.

' _Incendio Turba.'_

A dozen little flames leapt gleefully from the tip of Fred's wand, alighting on each of the carefully placed candles. Firelight now warred with moonlight for control of the room, and miniature golden fairies warred with those of shining argent silver, to the beat of the waterfalls as their battle drums.

The pair of them were both now within the small circle of candles. There was barely enough light to read by, but it was flickering and erratic, hinting at motion outside of James' field of vision. Fred, standing, cleared his throat pointedly.

'Oh, _right.'_

James hastened to stand, and fumbled for the hood of his robe, tugging it up to obscure his features in a manner identical to Fred's. His cousin had insisted on this ritual, stressing that a declaration of war necessitated an air of mystique and grandeur at the very least.

'Who stands ready to seek entry to the Council of War?' Fred intoned in a forcibly deep voice.

'C'mon, Fred, do we _have_ to?'

' _James!_ You promised!'

James sighed in resignation.

'It is I, James Sirius Potter, first of his name.'

'What do you bring to the Council of War?'

'I bring the legacy of two Marauders. I bring the Map of The Enchantress, I bring the Cloak of Invisibility. I bring twelve years of wartime experience battling on two fronts.'

'Why do you seek acceptance?'

'Because you made me-'

' _Denied!_ Come on James, _please.'_

'I have suffered slight at the hands of the enemy once too often. My honour has been questioned, my mettle scorned. My very heritage has been called into question, and I shall not be found wanting.'

'And on whom shall this war be waged?'

'Any man, woman or beast who doth call themselves a teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Any who should stand before me and lecture, all who seek to guide me, and every last soul who should desire to punish me.'

The sound of the waterfalls was beginning to fade into the background, the crackle and hiss of the candles was growing in James' ears. Thick, pungent smoke was wafting up towards the ceiling, capturing the fragments of light in shifting, ephemeral illusions.

'And so we see the lines of battle coalesce. What form shall this war take?'

'This shall be a war of pranks. A conflict of misdirection and misconception. We shall build a tower of trickery. We shall strike for their hearts with a blade forged of cold deception, and we shall weather their blows with our shields of beaten lies.'

'And what do you seek from the Council?'

'I seek acceptance, I seek knowledge, and above all, I seek assistance.'

There was a long pause. Shadows played within the confines of Fred's hood. The room outside their ring of candles was lost to the pair now, so thick was the smoke. Rich, purple haze hung heavy in the air, coiling and furling, shot through with golden lightning that was the flame of the candles.

Eventually, a soft gleam emanated from Fred's own hood, his white teeth shining in the gloom.

'Once cousins, now brothers in the art of War. Welcome, James Sirius Potter, to the Council.'

James nodded solemnly, held out his hand. Fred touched his wand-tip to it, and a jolt of electricity shot through James, causing him to start. He made not a sound, however. That had been made very clear to him. He gritted his teeth and weathered the sensation in silence.

Once Fred had decided the ritual was over, he waved his wand casually and the smoke dispersed. The sound of rushing water returned once more, making James need the toilet somewhat.

'That was _awesome!'_ Fred yelled, grabbing a cushion and taking a seat directly on the ground. 'Now check this out I've been dying to show you!'

James piled in eagerly, throwing back his hood and peering over Fred's shoulder. He produced a small, battered black notebook from his chest pocket, handling it as if it were the most delicate and priceless item in the entire world.

'It's from Dad,' Fred explained, 'it has, well, _everything._ Here- look.'

He pressed the book gently into James' hands. He gathered it reverently and began to turn the pages.

First his eyes widened, then his jaw began to drop. By the end of it, the hairs on the back of his neck had risen. _Everything_ was an understatement.

There pages of formulas, pages of plans, pages of maps and images and sketches. There were instructions and guidelines and rules. There were secrets, oh, so many secrets. There were more pages than a book of that size ought to possess. Some were guarded by password, some turned to ash if anyone but Fred laid a hand on them, others still were written in a code so complex that even Clip or Cassie would struggle to decipher it.

James had entered that room clueless, but by the time the pair slipped away – well after midnight – they had formulated a plan. A strategy. The beginnings of a war.

The following week was one of shared glances and secret smiles with Fred. In spite of this, James' nerves were mounting severely. The first Quidditch match of the season was less than a fortnight away and Gryffindor still hadn't named a team. Ryan spent the vast majority of his time locked away in his room, doing who-knew-what.

He had seen the Slytherin team already out there practicing every other day, and Holly was continuing to grumble about Odette's rigorous training regime disrupting their study in the Slytherin common room. Finally, with only a week to go until the game, James was able to corner Lilian Wood in the common room one evening, surreptitiously blocking off her route to bed in order to pester her about the team.

'Oh, James! Er… hi there. How are you?' Her cheeks flushed a vibrant red, and she was toying with the hem of her pyjama top, not meeting his eyes. As she lifted it up a touch, James caught a flash of skin and felt his own cheeks grow hot. The _last_ thing he needed was to be reminded of their most recent encounter.

'Erm… good.' He was trying desperately to focus on her face, but his eyes kept straying. He'd seen… _everything_. He was fairly certain he'd seen parts you weren't allowed to see until you were married to someone. His tongue seemed to be unhelpfully glued to the roof of his mouth.

'Listen James,' Lilian began, 'I'm really, _really_ sorry about our last… Run-in. I didn't mean to- I didn't know you were-'

'It's fine!' James blurted out. He jerked his hands down from where they had been subconsciously creeping up as if to cover his own exposed upper body.

'So, er… what was it you wanted?' Lilian asked. Her midnight-black hair was tied in a thick braid, thrown casually over her shoulder. She had moved from fidgeting with her nightshirt to worrying the loose strands at the end of the plait.

'I was just wondering about the team. Is it going to be named soon? It's just, the game is in a week's time. Are we going to have enough time to practice?'

A sly smile broke out on her face immediately, and she beckoned James closer. He approached, still somewhat apprehensive, but joined her where she squatted down to his level.

'Ryan has told me not to tell anyone. He's just so _commanding_ when he wants his way… Anyway, the list is going up tomorrow morning, first thing. I can let you in on a little secret though.'

James leaned in eagerly, his wide, brown eyes fixated on her calm green ones.

'There's a jersey in the changing sheds with "Potter" written on it.'

He stared at her, incredulous, unable to speak. His mouth worked for a second, yet no words came out. Lilian was nodding eagerly, mirroring what James was sure was his own stupid grin.

'R-really?' James stuttered, disbelieving.

'Really.'

Lilian held up her hand, but James dashed in to give her a hug, knocking her half to the ground from where she was squatting. It was only when he realised exactly _what_ his face was resting on – separated by only a thin film of cloth – that he pushed himself up hastily and rushed off to bed, offering thanks and apologies a hundred times over as he ascended the stairs.

The rest of the week flew by. Not even Cassie hounding him to pay attention to his homework, or Preston dumping a cup of pumpkin juice over his head at breakfast time could dampen his mood. He was ecstatic, absolutely thrilled.

Right up to the point where he became cripplingly nervous.

An hour before the match James pushed himself up from the breakfast table shakily. Fred stuffed a last slice of toast – his seventh – hastily into his mouth and made to follow. James waved him down.

'You go with Al, he'll want someone to be with him. I need some fresh air, clear my head. I'll meet you down there.'

'Orfmph,' was Fred's only reply.

Cat leaned out and stroked James on the arm as he walked past. 'Good luck, James,' she whispered. 'I believe in you.'

James forced a tight smile onto his face and began the long march down the table. His legs felt uncertain and lethargic, like he had forgotten how to walk properly. His hands felt incredibly heavy, swinging around stupidly at his side. He shoved them into his pockets and swallowed the bile that was beginning to rise in his throat.

'Can't wait to see you choke, Potter!' Lynch cried out from near the head of the table. A few of his cronies snickered stupidly around him.

James was rapidly clenching and unclenching his fists, swallowing far too frequently. He felt like the entire hall had stopped mid-meal just to watch him exit. Briefly he wondered if he'd make it to the first-floor bathroom before he threw up.

All of this and he wasn't even certain that he was going to _play._

He made it to the door to the Entrance Hall without being physically sick, which he took as a good sign. He was focusing intently on the flagstones at his feet, trying to force the nerves form his mind by sheer will alone, when he was hit square in the chest and his vision engulfed in a thick cloud of raven hair.

'Oof- Holly! What are you doing?'

She stepped back, looked down at him a little uncertainly. She popped the end of her braid into her mouth and sucked on it for a moment before replying.

'I came to wish you good luck! But you still have to lose. Even though I hate my house. You still have to lose, just… don't lose by too much?'

The pitch of her voice rose at the end, as if she were asking an awkward question. James let out a single bark of laughter, feeling a few of the nerves slew away.

'Thanks… Or not-thanks. Either way, I doubt I'll even play.'

Holly said nothing, only casting her gaze about the Entrance Hall, as if she were about to divulge a precious secret. James leaned in close to hear what she would say, but she merely tugged her knitted jumper off over her head, causing the static to send her hair into a wild frenzy.

James giggled a bit at that, but was cut short by a curt 'Ahem.' Holly was pointing at her chest where, standing out quite proudly against the white of her shirt was a small crimson-and-gold number sixteen. His own number. He looked down and saw identical embroidery on his own Quidditch robes, the deep, rich gold shimmering softly in the torchlight. He reached out as if to touch the number on Holly's shirt-

\- and promptly had his hand slapped away, an affronted squawk from Holly.

'James!' she cried, hastily tugging her jumper back over her head, hugging her arms across her breasts defensively.

James' face flushed an almighty red. Nerves completely diminished in the face of relentless panic and embarrassment.

'Merlin's sagging- I didn't- I wasn't- I'm sorry Holly!'

'Hmph,' she sulked, turning and flouncing off back in the direction of the Great Hall. Before she passed through the doorway she turned and gave him a wink and a thumbs-up, patting her chest encouragingly.

Girls. Are. Mental.

And it appeared that they weren't done with James quite yet.

His steps were a little lighter now, as he made his way out through the courtyard, towards the rolling expanse of the grounds. The sun was slanting in from the East, and dappled light painted the cobblestones as it filtered through the trees lining the quad.

Knowing that his friends were supporting him no matter what went a long way in easing the burden. He hadn't doubted them at all, but sitting at that table, receiving dark looks from the entire Slytherin house, and the occasional jeer from Preston Lynch was not doing wonders for his mental state.

The sun bathed him in that gentle warmth so characteristic of the late September mornings. Summer was digging her claws in, refusing to surrender to the crisp, fresh morning that announced the beginning of Autumn more than any calendar could.

Conditions for the game today were going to be nigh on perfect. The low-hanging sun would begin to climb as the match approached, becoming less of a hazard when catching the Quaffle. One or two lonely clouds scudded across the great blue expanse. He popped the tip of his finger into his mouth to wet it and ascertain the wind direction, when he heard a husky moan come from the corner of the courtyard.

'Do that again for me James darling, it made my heart race so.'

James scowled. He knew that voice.

'What do you want, Odette.'

A low chuckle was her only response.

James stopped to face her, the frown growing on his face as she pushed herself up languidly from where she had been lounging against the base of an oak tree. She was wearing an oversized Slytherin Quidditch jersey which fell to a length just enough to cover her modesty, and a pair of lycra tights, the kind that the girls wore beneath their Quidditch robes. As she strode towards him James' consternation continued to grow; she was wearing the most ridiculous pair of high heels decorated in green sequins, which made her easily a head taller than himself. He hated having to look up at her; the way she talked to him made him feel small enough as it was.

'If you have to ask what I want, darling, then you aren't ready to hear the answer.'

James grunted. She had come to a halt well within his personal space, and he found himself at little more than chest height. Even without those stupid heels she was tall for a third year. That fact just made him even angrier; he'd been measuring himself every day, even researching potions to help him grow faster; anything that would have given him an edge on Preston Lynch to keep his spot on the team. It seemed unfair that Troll-farts like Odette Mansfield got everything handed to them, when he had to work his butt off just to scrape through.

'I don't care about what you want.'

'Oh but one day, my dear, you very much will, and I shall be there to provide it. With… pleasure.'

James shuddered; she was fast approaching Preston Lynch on his list of people he didn't want to be around. He still hadn't forgiven her for what she did to Rain on the Express. He didn't think he ever would.

'Shouldn't you be out there practicing?' James growled, 'you don't stand a chance today.'

Odette's laugh was as clear and bright as crystal in the sun.

'Fairbourne? That bint wears more make-up even than I do. She only plays for the status, you know. If she spent half the time practicing riding her broom as she spent talking about… something else that she has been riding, then she'd be almost as good as me.'

'I'll have to find you after the game, Odette, and you can tell me what it's like to captain a team that suffers the worst loss in school history.'

She crouched down in a patronising way to meet James' eyes. Her breath smelled strongly of spearmint.

'Meeting up after the game? You flatter me darling, it's a date!' she ruffled his hair, causing his cheeks to flush an angry red, before simpering away back towards the castle.

'It is not a date!' James cried out after her.

He stalked all the way down to the pitch at double speed. He was really starting to hate that girl. He couldn't wait to see the look on her face when they lost. He was going to enjoy the way that sparkle winked out from her eyes, and the downward cast to those immaculately painted lips.

He kicked a clump of grass, sending it flying into the trunk of a nearby fir tree. He hoped that Odette's stupid heels got stuck in the soft turf every step of the way down to the pitch.

Less than an hour later, and with ten minutes to go before the opening whistle, the nerves had returned with a vengeance. James was currently sat in the Gryffindor changing shed, ground level on the Quidditch pitch, near half way. The room was filled with seventeen other equally tense bodies, and thirty-two eyes were fixed on a single figure who stood before them, pacing slowly back and forth before the door to the pitch.

The air in the room was close and hot, tinged with the sour smell of nervous sweat from so many bodies in close proximity. Ryan O'Flaherty gazed out upon them all, making eye contact with each of them, holding it briefly, allowing a private moment with each player on the team without the encumbrance of words. James allowed himself to be reassured by that gaze, he allowed some of his edginess to fall away before the indomitable figure at their helm. He imagined Ryan taking the nerves from each and every one of them, converting it into the fuel that powered his relentless engine, taking each of their weaknesses and turning it into his own strength.

Finally, he cleared his throat, ceased his pacing.

'Three times I've held the Quidditch Cup aloft. Three times, we have triumphed. Three times we have gone out there and shown the school and everyone watching how we play the game. Not once, during those three years or any in between have I ever been this confident in a team starting the season.'

James felt a nervous smile threatening to break out.

'We've returned a full team of starters from last season. We have the best damn bunch of reserves I've seen in a long time. We're the most disciplined I've ever seen, the hardest working I've ever seen, and if I dare say it, the best looking we've ever been.'

The entire room burst out in a simultaneous round of tense laughter. The sensation of nerves being shed and excitement building was almost tangible.

'Today's game plan is set. We've all gone over it a hundred times. Now isn't the time to talk about that. Now is the time to take a moment to yourselves, find peace, reflect.'

He paused for a moment, and silence descended. James could hear the dull roar of the crowd through the flimsy wooden door.

'The season starts today. Winning the cup starts today. We are going to go out there and show the school that this is our pitch, that this is our game, and that out there, between those hoops this. Is. Our. World.'

He punctuated each of the last words by smashing his fist down onto the planning table. The team leapt to their feet at the end of the speech, yelling and whooping in delight, pumping fists in the air and slapping each other on the back. Ryan grabbed his broom, kicked open the door to the pitch and disappeared in a flash. The team followed him, cheering and clapping eagerly. James mounted up near the rear of the group, zipping through the door at full speed.

The roar of the crowd hit him with physical force, instantly drowning out the sound of even his own shallow breathing. Over a thousand students packed the stadiums almost to capacity, each one of them dressed in a clashing, riotous display of colour. Reds and greens predominated, but the other houses were out in force as well. Streamers drifted lazily on the wind, horns and whistles and screams occasionally cut through the all-consuming roar.

James flew a lap of the pitch, as the commentator announced the team. A massive grin split his face, and he punched the air with a fist as his own name was called. By chance he happened to see his friends, sitting right at the front of the Fred Weasley Memorial Stand. They were leaping up and down madly, Holly lifted up her jumper, flashing the crimson and gold number sixteen embroidered on her shirt. James added his own voice to the maelstrom, feeding off an entire schools' excitement to the point where his heart was racing, not with nerves, but with excitement.

He followed Fred over to the cordoned off Reserves Stand – a small section of seating right on the halfway line. From here they would watch the game, and – if it was required – they would join it. There was a gate that opened forwards, out onto the pitch, and a metre-wide ledge that jutted out over thin air which was made for mounting and dismounting. James closed the gate behind him, and took a seat next to Fred. Out on the pitch the Slytherin team were entering the fray. A monstrous silver-and-green cheer went up with Odette Mansfield's name was announced. James had to stop himself from joining in.

Gryffindor was hovering ready, their characteristic two-one formation in crisp alignment; Lilian Wood sat back twenty yards from Ryan and Connor, who both hovered right above the centre-field line. James was tasked with studying Lilian's play throughout the game, keeping a close eye on her and, where appropriate, taking notes on the way she played the Enabler position. Her knowledge of the theory of the game was second to none, and she was able to direct the flow of the match with artful finesse. The fact that Ryan had so much as hinted that James might take over that position next year had been enough to leave him wide-eyed and stuttering.

He wasn't going to let them down.

The Slytherin Chasers were slow to get into position. Odette was hovering high above them, screaming and waving her arms madly, her voice lost to the light wind that was beginning to pick up and drift in off the lake. The smell of dampness reached James' nose, and he recalculated his game plan, as he was certain Lilian was also doing. Wind coming in from the east; manipulate the flow of the game to keep their shots dominantly on that side.

He saw a brief hand signal flashed in the direction of Connor Flint, who adjusted his position, hanging further out on that eastern flank, better to swing wide and take the most advantage of the small breeze.

Declan Hawksby was beginning to look impatient. He checked his watch three times, the Quaffle tucked firmly under one arm. Still the Slytherins were scrambling to line up correctly. They had one Beater holding both bats, they had the Keeper way out of position talking to somebody in the stands, and two of the Chasers were facing entirely the wrong direction. Finally, reaching the end of his tether, the agitated Flying Instructor blew his whistle and tossed the Quaffle high into the air.

The season had begun.

James caught the barest hint of an infuriated scream from Odette's position as the Quaffle rose, occluding the sun from James' seat. Ryan had crept in from his left wing during the confusion, and darted in to snatch it almost casually from under a Slytherin Chaser's nose.

He promptly performed a clinical Reykjavik Reverse with Lilian; passing the Quaffle no-look style over the back of his head. She knocked it ahead with the tail of her broom – a perfect Finbourgh Flick – and it fell into the waiting arms of Connor Flint, perfectly weighted to play him into open space. The hapless Slytherin Keeper had barely returned from his gossip session in the stands, and was left flailing ridiculously as Connor's Sidearm Swirl shot dipped into the right hand hoop.

Ten nil to Gryffindor, and a minute of the game was yet to pass.

Slytherin looked sluggish from the restart, one of their Chasers fumbling an easy pass. The Quaffle plummeted to the earth, closely followed by Lilian Wood. Even mid-dive, she was directing the troops, sending Connor on a diagonal route across the face of the goal. He drew two defenders with him, and ducked easily beneath a clumsy Bludger sent his way. This left Lilian and Ryan against a single Chaser to defend them. The Quaffle danced between their fingertips like it had a life of it's own, and summarily ended up slotted through the centre hoop, much to the chagrin of the Slytherin team.

James turned to Fred, a broad grin spreading across his face; two goals up inside the space of two minutes. At this pace they wouldn't even need Diana to catch the Snitch.

The game continued, played to much the same tune. It was obvious to even the least knowledgeable Quidditch fan that the Gryffindor Chasers – the mighty Hydra – were outclassing their Slytherin counterparts by such a margin that it hardly seemed fair.

James' grin widened along with the Gryffindor lead. They scored a hundred points before Slytherin even got on the board. The cheer that rose from the far side of the stadium was more than a little lacklustre.

Dutifully, James was studying Lilian's every move. He had already filled out three pages of notes, and had just about filled up his last sheet of parchment. Their game plan for the day had been a fairly standard one. They continued to run the now-famous two-one formation up front, with Ryan and Connor as Finishers on the left and right wings, respectively. Lilian, as usual, was playing Enabler; her astounding command of the match flow and acute awareness of the living organism that was a well-functioning Quidditch team allowed her to direct the game as she saw fit, Enabling Ryan and Connor to keep piling on the goals, almost at will.

Because the Chasers were so superior to those of Slytherin, the Beaters, Archie and Will MacDougal, could focus entirely on Odette Mansfield, who spent the entirety of the game with three of the Gryffindor seven serving the sole purpose of stopping her getting to the Snitch.

It had been Ryan's master stroke – forgoing assistance from his own Beaters, such confidence that he had in his team. Archie and Will were pinpoint accurate; the one time that the Snitch had appeared, Will and fired off a screamer of a shot into Odette's ribs as she pulled ahead of Diana. Both Seekers had become tangled, and thrown wildly off course, losing the Snitch instantly, but soon it would hardly matter, as Gryffindor would have greater than a one hundred fifty point lead.

Fred gasped in awe beside him, as Archie managed to redirect a Bludger on such an angle that it sat perfectly for his brother Will, hovering for a second dead-still before him. Will subsequently drilled it so hard as to knock the Slytherin Keeper clean off of his broom, leaving the hoops open for Ryan to score the easiest goal of his career. One hundred fifty plays twenty.

They were approaching what Ryan referred to as "Critical Mass" now, that magical one hundred and fifty point buffer. James had been instructed that he would be brought on to the field if they managed to reach a lead of two hundred points. A jolt of nerves assailed him as he realised the score. He tucked his parchment hastily away, standing up and pacing back and forth in the stand, trying to work some life into his muscles. All of a sudden the possibility of him getting game time was looking incredibly real.

As he was bending over to touch his toes, he heard the unmistakeable roar of the crowd that could only mean one thing – the Snitch had been spotted. He swore under his breath, spinning to watch the scene play out. How cruel would it be to lose the game now, when they were so clearly the better team? He hated Seekers, especially that one.

Odette was so far in the lead that it wasn't even funny. Diana had been caught circling high up above the southern end of the pitch. Currently a zipping, ricocheting glint of gold was bouncing between the hoops low to the north. Odette was diving in a flash, her hair streaking wildly out around her. Both Bludgers were in possession of the Slytherin Beaters, who were cunningly just tapping them back and forth between each other, keeping them out of the possession of the MacDougal boys. James joined in the yelling - for all the good it would do.

Archie was careening in on a tangent, as if he were going for the Snitch himself, except he was off course. James frowned, he should be trying to get the Bludgers back to disrupt Odette. If he touched the Snitch he'd get hit with a Snitchnip foul, and be ejected from the game.

Archie's mad plan was made clear, as he didn't even attempt to pull out from his dive. He collided with Odette on an angle in mid-air. His sturdier build and much larger frame meant that she was knocked clean from her broom, spiralling to the ground below, arms and legs flailing madly.

Thankfully, the pair were only a few feet from the turf, and she landed, rolled, and pushed herself back up onto shaky feet after a short delay. The Slytherin end of the stand was in an uproar, Declan Hawksby was blowing furiously on his whistle, waving madly at Archie. One of the Slytherin Beaters was flying into the fray, bat levelled as if to hit somebody with it.

James cringed, his grip on the edge of the stand one of white knuckles and popping veins. If tensions boiled over and the Hydra got banned again… it could spell the end of their season, and certainly of their Quidditch Cup aspirations.

Mercifully, Ryan was the first on the scene, and imposed order almost instantly. He herded Archie off the pitch – as he had been ejected – and directed Connor to lend Odette a hand back onto her broom. She waved him away sharply, mounting up and regaining the air, businesslike from start to finish.

'Weasley!' Ryan barked as Archie tossed his broom at the storage rack angrily. 'You're next man up, get out here; we've a game to win!'

The briefest moment of shock flitted across Fred's face. He shared an ecstatic look with James before darting over to grab his broom, taking off behind Ryan. He had to return rather sheepishly to take the Beater's bat from a sulky Archie MacDougal, and James gave his loudest cheer yet as his best friend and cousin took the pitch for the first time.

Collette Malkin made both of the penalty throws from Archie's infringement, bringing the score back to one hundred-twenty to forty. Only an eighty point lead; all of a sudden the game was blown wide open, and James returned to his seat, nervously clenching and unclenching his fists.

Contact was a little rougher as play resumed; many an elbow or a stray fist found its way into an opposition stomach, or clipped a face on the way past. Connor Flint shortly had blood streaming freely from his nose, but he carried on like he didn't even notice. Odette was noticeably slower now, and still a little dazed from her injuries. James hoped it was enough to let Diana get the jump on her should the Snitch appear again.

Fred's contribution, on the other hand was immediate, and it was positive. His first play on the pitch was a perfectly-timed Farnham Fake-out. He swung wildly at an approaching bludger, mere inches from the face of Collette Malkin, who was in possession of the Quaffle. She threw both hands over her face, emitting a piercing shriek James could hear even over the sound of the crowd, and dropped the Quaffle stone cold. Lilian Wood picked it up with ease, and handed off to Ryan, who displayed some individual brilliance for yet another gold.

Even from way up in the stand, James could see Freddy tilting his head back in his characteristic laugh. James was grinning like an idiot along with him; their shared dream of dominating the Quidditch scene at Hogwarts was beginning to coalesce.

The lead steadily began to increase once more, and at two-hundred points to forty, Ryan and Connor subbed off for Abbey and Zanthia Fisher. Both girls looked grim and determined, offering a high-five to the boys as they pushed off from the launching platform.

'We'll see you out there soon James!' Abbey turned and called with a wink.

James gave her a smile and a thumbs up that was much more confident than he was truly feeling.

Alone, the Fisher twins were good. Together, they were great. With Lilian directing them, out there they were impeccable. They yet lacked the intellect and the instinct for the game that Ryan and Connor possessed, but that would come in time. What they lacked in size, they made up for in tenacity. James knew first hand that the girls played dirty, no matter who they were up against, and he saw several punches, kicks, and even a firm yank on Collette's hair in a scuffle for the Quaffle.

It wasn't as pretty as their predecessors, but equally as effective. The lead continued to grow, and at two-hundred and thirty to forty, James began his stretching routine again. Ryan approached him, a thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead, sleeves of his robes rolled up revealing muscular, ropy forearms.

'Been watching her, Potter?' he asked, nodding towards Lilian.

'Aye,' James nodded. 'She's _good.'_

'She's putting on a master class today,' Ryan agreed, nodding slowly. 'It's beautiful to watch. _She's-_ '

He cut himself of there, clearing his throat hastily.

'Good luck out there, Potter. I'm sure you'll do fine. Malkin cheats left, she favours that side, and thinks nobody notices. Braithwaite is riding a stump; he has no acceleration off the mark and the way he catches I think he's blind in one eye.

'Zanthia makes better decisions with the Quaffle in hand, Abbey has a better shot on her. Feed Zee first when you can, let Abbey finish.'

James nodded, a solid lump forming in his throat. Out on the field Zanthia missed the shot that would have sent him into the match, the knot in his shoulders only grew more tense.

Ryan began ushering him towards the launch platform. Lilian was tied up in a defensive play, but she was well aware of the game plan should they score another goal. James took his broom from the rack, feeling the ridged wood beneath his fingers, straightening a single twig that was microscopically out of alignment.

As he looked out over the pitch, Fred hammered a wild Bludger at the Slytherin Chaser, Braithwaite. He dropped the Quaffle instantly, and the Bludger tore off towards Diana Fairbourne up above to the south.

James shot him the thumbs-up, then felt his jaw drop as just above Fred's left ear, a tiny golden shimmer seemed to be hovering.

No sooner than it appeared had Odette spotted it, tearing in from her position high above. Diana was making an identical manoeuvre from the opposite end of the pitch. Fred got out of there faster than James had ever seen him move before, but not fast enough to avoid Odette on her lightning-fast Siberian Arrow. She clipped his tail on the way past, spinning him around wildly. When she rose from her dive a glinting pair of wings was fluttering desperately between her fingertips.

James groaned, that wasn't going to do wonders for Diana's shaky confidence. He looked up at Ryan, who currently wore a very thoughtful expression on his face.

The pairs' vexation did not last for long, however, as Lilian had just landed on the launch platform, and nearly knocked James aside in her haste to wrap Ryan up in a celebratory hug. Three-quarters of the stadium was erupting in raucous cheers. The remainder just sat in stunned silence, shocked that their ace Seeker would catch the Snitch while they were down more than a hundred and-fifty points.

Archie, Will and Fred were linked arm-in-arm, dancing about in a circle chanting 'Beaters! Beaters! Beaters!' Fred reached out an arm, yanking James into their war dance, but not before he saw Ryan push back from Lilian more than a little awkwardly, instead holding out his hand to shake her own. He mumbled a hasty 'well played,' before scurrying off to congratulate the rest of the team, leaving Lilian looking a little red-faced and forlorn in his wake.

The celebration continued all the way down to the changing sheds, where Ryan postponed their after-match breakdown in favour of a party in the common room.

'Just this once,' he assured them in no uncertain terms.

Fred received pats on the backs from every team member for his excellent debut performance, and a friendly hug and ruffle of the hair from Lilian as well. The team tried to carry him out of the changing sheds on their shoulders, but he promptly cracked his head on a cross-beam, falling down to the ground with an indignant squawk. Seeing the adoration Fred was receiving for his first game just stoked the fire within James even more; he couldn't wait to get out there and prove himself, to have Ryan and Connor and Lilian shake his hand and clap him on the back like he'd just single-handedly won the game himself.

James lagged back as the team made their way up to the common room, already planning the evening's celebrations. He had a promise to fulfil, and was eagerly anticipating the cruel joy he would take from rubbing that defeat in Odette's face. He wished that Diana had managed to steal the snitch away; a three hundred-eighty point win over the defending Cup champions would have been the sweetest feeling.

As he rounded the perimeter of the stadium towards the Slytherin changing rooms he began to hear voices drifting to his ears on the light wind rolling off the lake.

'-the hell was that, Mansfield? Not even giving us a chance to come back.'

Infighting among the Slytherin team, even better! James lingered out of sight, behind a corner of a grandstand, just within earshot.

'I was sick of being humiliated, MacNair,' came a voice that must have been Odette, albeit without her usual haughty accent. 'You three were pathetic out there. Even those Fisher wenches were whipping you into shape. We would never have come within a hundred and fifty of them, and you know it. Now get out of my face.'

'We're not done with you,' came a third voice, this one an unfamiliar female. 'You know as well as we do that they were about to put Potter on. We would have run him into the ground. Without Wood calling the shots they are nothing. We could have made up the points easily.'

'Stop kidding yourself Colette,' Odette hissed, 'you couldn't catch a Quaffle if it was big and soft and shaped like Albery Knutsen's arse. If I don't see you on the pitch first thing tomorrow morning then you'll be off the team.'

There was a gasp, presumably from Colette, followed by a group of thumping footsteps coming James' way. He ducked out of sight in amongst the support beams, waiting for the disgruntled team to storm off sans Odette, all grumbles and curses.

He emerged as soon as they were out of sight, rounding the corner wearing his most smug smile, ready for his turn to lay it on the besieged Slytherin Seeker.

The smile died on his lips when he saw her. He would have hardly recognised her, had she not been wearing the same oversized Slytherin jersey and leggings as before the match.

Straw-blonde hair, normally so immaculate, was banded together in a scruffy tail, flyaway strands whipping back and forth on the breeze. Without her customary makeup she seemed like a different person; lips thinner, eyes smaller. She was cradling her right arm in against her body, and had a nasty scratch that ran from the corner of her mouth up above her ear, like some grotesque mockery of a smile.

A twig crunched beneath James' feet, and she looked up, startled. A wry smile began to form, coupled with a short burst of bitter laughter.

'Come to have your turn, Potter? Be sure to speak up, not sure I'll hear you from up where you are, sat upon the shoulders of bigger men.'

James frowned, _he_ was supposed to be the one dishing insults.

'You look… terrible,' he said instead.

'With eyes like that, it's a wonder _you're_ not the Seeker in the family.' She paused here to cough twice, a painful grimace flashing across her features. 'We're fragile creatures, us. Seekers, that is. We are delicate, built for speed, grace and-' she gestured up and down her own body '-beauty. None of this thick-skulled smash-and-bash Chasing nonsense.'

She gestured with her head towards the castle, and James fell in beside her. He wondered briefly how he had gone from coming to rub the defeat in her face to walking her back through the grounds.

'We are a spun-glass flower, a tiny daisy. So artfully crafted as to take your breath away. We shine and glitter in the sun. Mistreat us-' she shrugged, 'and we shatter.'

Internally, James grinned to himself, memorising her speech verbatim. Al would _hate_ to hear that about Seekers.

'I'm still glad we beat you,' James forced out, then kicked himself. What a stupid thing to say. Of _course_ he would be glad they won.

Her laughter was a shadow of the clear, musical tones it had been that morning, and it elicited another coughing fit. 'It is a marathon, not a sprint, that we run, darling. And broken glass can still cut. We shall see just who is laughing in the end.'

They walked in silence for a time, eventually parting ways in the Entrance Hall. James made his way up the stairs, Odette down toward the dungeons. He frowned as he waved her farewell; he had been preparing so many good insults to throw her way, too.

'I'd be wearing a pair of earmuffs if I were you,' warned the Fat Lady, as James pushed the portrait open up on the seventh floor.

As soon as he stepped across the threshold the wave of noise assaulted him. Music was blaring, everyone was cheering and yelling to be heard over the noise. There were clinks of glass and joyous whistles and even one or two bangs that sounded suspiciously like a Weasley's product.

The entire room was decorated in red and gold streamers; it looked as if somebody had just hexed a can of them to explode. They were draped over every possible surface; the couches, the paintings, the notice board. The tail of one was even beginning to smoke rather alarmingly where it was tangled amongst the ashes of the fire.

James' grin broadened as he entered the room, walking on a carpet of shining confetti. The circle parted around him, and he was forced into the middle of the group amidst a score of pats on the back and celebratory high-fives.

Fred reached out and pulled him into the team huddle. The entire fourteen of them were linked arm-over-shoulder, facing in a tight circle, inwards. The moment James joined them – the last of their number – a great cheer went up, and they started jumping as one, chanting 'Gryffindor! Gryffindor! Gryffindor!'

Soon the entire house was joining in, to the point where the walls shook, dust rained down from the ceiling, and a few bottles of Butterbeer toppled off the top of tables. Still the students shouted, still the party continued, and it refused to cease until long into the night.


	7. Chapter 7 - Black Eyes

_A/N: It seems that life requires more adult-related activities from me these days than it did six months ago, and so the weekends of 2 and 3 chapters seem, for now at least, to be behind us. For that I am truly sorry; I want this story to move along as much as you all (hopefully) do._

 _Regardless of that, here is the next one, I can't seem to get them below 7,000 words, so at least you're getting quantity, if you don't like the quality!_

 _PSA for those interested, last weekend I released a chapter on my parallel story, JSP Tales of Unsung Heroes. It is about Zoe Meadows pre-accident, if anyone is interested, go check it out, it gives some fairly valuable insight into what her life used to be like._

 _Hope you all enjoy this chapter, please let me know what you think in the form of a review, or a PM. I **love** that stuff, it legitimately makes my day!_

 _And so, dear reader, dive forth to discover the mysteries of these foreign attacks, and find out just who has the pinkest slippers of them all..._

* * *

'I heard that three of them disappeared for over an _hour._ When they came back, they couldn't even remember where they'd _been._ '

'Emry said that he saw a giant cloud of purple smoke, and anybody who touched it fell _upwards_ into the roof.'

'One of the Hufflepuffs swore she saw Professor Plye wearing giant yellow underwear, on his _head.'_

'Tansy McKendrick _definitely_ said there was an alligator.'

'There was _not_ an alligator.'

'Was too, it was big and red and flamey, she said.'

'That's a _salamander,_ Tristan.'

'Oh.'

Clip and Tristan were currently sat perched on the ends of James and Fred's adjacent beds in the Gryffindor dormitory, reliving the apparent madness that had descended upon the Teachers' Section of the D. L. Malfoy stand during yesterday's match between Gryffindor and Slytherin.

James and Fred were both currently lying face down into their pillows, smothering identical wild grins. As it turned out, some rapscallion had snuck down to the pitch one night prior to the game, and switched out the chairs in the Fred Weasley I Memorial Stand with those in the Malfoy stand, primarily used by the teachers and upperclassmen.

By all accounts it had been absolutely hilarious to behold. Many of the students still didn't know the outcome of the match, as a far more intriguing spectacle had held their attention for the duration of the game. Rumour had it that the Astronomy Professor, Astoria Oakby, _still_ hadn't been able to change her hair any other colour but green.

'It was pure brilliance,' sighed Tristan. He was playing with a small streamer of fire, which wended its way up and down his arm, darting in and out of his robes like a playful pet, evidently not causing him any harm.

Ever since the final F.A.R.T club Hunt in first year Tristan had begun to develop an affinity for fire-related magic. He cast the best _Incendio_ charm out of the entire year, and was displaying an understatedly clever control of the flame as it snaked across the back of his hands.

As long as he kept it away from James' sheets, all was well.

'I wonder who pulled it off,' Clip mused, pointedly. 'It must have been difficult, sneaking out there after dark.'

'Beats me,' Fred mumbled, propping himself up on his pillow with an elbow, features level.

James mirrored his pose. It was late Sunday morning following the game, and the four of them had the dormitory to themselves. Dust-laden sunlight was sneaking in slyly under curtains and through gaps in shutters. There was enough of a chill in the late September air for James to be thankful for Tristan having lit the fireplace on his arrival.

'Whoever it was must have had a powerful spell, or some sort of magical artefact to conceal themselves,' Tristan pondered thoughtfully.

'And they _must_ have had inside information on how to manipulate the Enchantments on the Weasley stand,' Clip added.

'I think it's pretty obvious who did it, really.' Tristan looked between the three of them. James threw a sidelong glance at Fred, who simply shrugged, unfazed.

'Who, then?' Freddy challenged.

'James!'

' _What?'_

The four boys cried out in unison, spinning around to locate the source of the voice.

Rosalie Gardner stood at the doorway to the boys' dormitory, wearing possibly the _pinkest_ dressing gown James had ever seen.

'Where did you-?'

'What are you-?'

'I never did-'

'Girls aren't _allowed_ in here _,'_ Clip gasped, agape.

James nodded fervently in agreement.

'Give it a couple years,' Tristan muttered, 'and you'll be taking _that_ back.'

'Ooh, were you talking about the prank on the teachers?' Rosalie giggled, skipping over to join them. She was _always_ giggling about something or other, usually with Leah Ridley by her side.

'Er... yea, we were,' James said uncertainly.

'How _awesome_ was it?' She squealed, and plopped down on the end of James' bed, for all the world as if she owned the place. 'Whoever did it must have been so clever. In, out and done before someone even noticed.'

'Funny,' Tristan added, 'I heard mother using that _exact_ phrase to father just the other morning.'

James frowned in confusion. Rosie's eyes bulged; Clip guffawed into a handful of Fred's blankets.

'Anyway James,' Rosie continued, tracing circles atop his duvet, 'I was wondering if you could show me how to cast the Disarming Charm, like you did for Leah. I've been having such terrible trouble with it lately, and she wouldn't stop telling me just how... _excellent_ you were. Please?'

She was giving him such a pleading look, as if he had been just about to kick her puppy. James ran a hand through his hair uncomfortably. Fred shrugged. Clip was giving James a get-her-out-of-here look. Tristan was wearing a smug smile, his fire-snake currently circling about his head like a burning halo.

'Erm, I guess so,' James sighed. Some friends they were.

He threw off his covers, realising too late that he had yet to put on any trousers for the day. Fred yelped, Rosie squealed, and Tristan's halo flared for a moment, before he stood up and stretched languidly.

'Well lads, we had best clear off, looks like this is going to be a demonstration we don't want to hang around for. Don't forget the pictures I drew you, Jamesy.'

Neither James' blush, nor Rosie's nervous giggles died down until they were safely in the common room, under the withering gaze of Leah Ridley, and both very completely and very thoroughly clothed.

Thankfully, that week passed with far fewer helpings of embarrassment. That was, at least if you weren't on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. Setting a spate of records for all the wrong reasons, they lost the fastest match in recent Hogwarts history, going down to Ravenclaw one hundred and ninety to zero, after fewer than five minutes. Aster Ogleby, the rising star Keeper for Ravenclaw, posted his fourth shut-out of his six year career, and the young Hufflepuff team – still trying to put all the pieces together on the pitch – was outgunned across the board.

The only notable takeaway that resulted from the match was the suspicious lack of attendance from the members of faculty.

Unfortunately for Tristan, Cassie had come out to watch the game. For a girl who professed so little interest in the game of Quidditch, she had what James was sure would be a most infuriating air of smugness each time her team won a game. She practically bounced all the way from the pitch back up to the castle until Tristan had had enough, and sent a tiny lick of flame up under the hem of her skirt, eliciting a bout of righteous fury and shrieking that would make even the boldest Banshee blush.

Mid October found the second years trapped in doors upon the whim of a fearsome rain storm. The Lake outside was whipping up a furious spray, lashing the pebbled shores in remarkable fury. Trees were ripped from precarious perches, swallowed up by the hungry, murky depths. Miniature tornadoes rose and fell across the surface of the water, dancing up to meet the forking lightning that flickered as far as the eye could see. The eye of the storm sat centred above the water, rays of sunlight painting the tumultuous scene below in muted brassy hues.

James started, as a small branch crashed into the second floor window out of which he had been looking, snapping him out of the momentary daydream. He felt a hand take his wrist, and the sensation of overwhelming nausea gave away who it was before he was able to even look up.

'Hello Rain,' he whispered, his voice a little choked.

He looked around the room; nearly a hundred first-years were gathered in pairs at the behest of Professor Meadows – who was still pointedly ignoring James' continued existence. They were about to begin the first practical exercise of Duelling Club, and it appeared that absolutely _nobody_ had wanted to partner with Rain.

Truth be told, James wasn't all that keen himself; he had seen what she did – or _almost_ did – to Odette at sign-ups. Fred flashed him an apologetic shrug, a doe-eyed Bianca Petit on his arm. Evidently he had simply reached out and grabbed the nearest body so as not to end up with Rain. Bianca seemed not to mind in the slightest.

Chaos momentarily broke out as Professor Meadows attempted to line the entire group up facing one another, along the length of a classroom which was far too small for the purpose.

Rain seemed eager to use the cover to strike up conversation.

'Hello James Potter. Have you been avoiding me?'

Despite the professor's increasingly frantic cries for order, Rain hadn't moved an inch. She retained the grip on his wrist; the barest hint of her touch, yet holding the promise of a vice-like embrace. She was resting with her back to the wall next to James' window. The thick scarf was still present – albeit the weather was more amenable today – and by a flicker of torchlight James caught sight of the chain to her Sapphire amulet, tucked away beneath the folds of cloth. Her hair was tied back loosely, yet elegantly, and she looked down at him through long lashes, sea-green eyes seeming to pierce through much more than James' shaken exterior.

'No, it's you who's been avoiding us. Cassie says you spend most of your time with Slytherins these days. I feel like I haven't seen you all term.'

'And do you miss me, James Potter?'

The fact that the pair where whispering had surreptitiously drawn them closer, and as James turned, looking up to reply, her eyes latched onto his fiercely, locking them in that iron grip as promised by her soft hands.

The room swayed, as if someone were pulling the very floor out from under James' feet. His stomach clenched, and he couldn't tell which way was up. He reached out, clutching madly at the cold stone wall, scrabbling to find purchase. As suddenly as it had begun, he felt a warm touch on his back, and all was right once more.

Rain was blinking down at him innocently. A single strand of red-gold hair had fallen down across her face, and was reaching down to tickle James' cheek. He brushed it away, and Rain _giggled._

'Because I have missed you so.'

'Er... how have you been, anyway? You know,' he gestured vaguely at her heart. 'With _things.'_

He swallowed nervously as soon as he had said it; he saw the mirth sapping away behind her eyes, the muted joy replaced by solid chips of ice, unfeeling. James recognised that face; it was the Rain that she showed to everybody else.

James withered under her frosty gaze. He thought it might be warmer out there in the midst of the raging storm. Surreptitiously, she reached up and ran a fingertip across her breast, right where James knew the scar was centred.

'Did you know that nigh on half of the students of this school have asked that same question. Perhaps in less… savoury terms, but all want to know about the freak girl with the spooky scar. Do you know how _alone_ that makes me feel?'

For a moment the iciness was gone, and red-hot anger burned, rolling off of her body in waves. James shrunk beneath the fierceness of her gaze, unable to fathom what he had said wrong.

'If that is all you wish to talk about, James Potter, then I shall leave you. Once more, I find myself on the verge of tears, and it dismays me to note that this time, I doubt that you should be able to pull me back.'

'Rain, wait-' James reached out and grabbed a handful of her robes as she pushed past him.

She whirled to face him, eyes glistening.

'I'm sorry; I didn't mean it like that. I just wanted to make sure you were ok.'

'Of course you did.' Her tone was clipped. Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to reach up and wipe them away. 'I suppose, I promised you an explanation for last year. It appears that is all you are after, anyway. Meet me Friday night at the staircase to the Ravenclaw tower. You will have your explanation then.'

She tugged her sleeve away from him sharply, shrugging out of his grip, and dislodging her scarf as she did so. It tumbled to the floor, but she stalked off, unheeding, throwing the door open before her as she left. James bent down to pick up the scarf, feeling numb inside. He clutched it firmly in his hand, noting that a single teardrop had fallen to the cobbled floor, where it glistened like a tiny diamond in the late afternoon light.

Outside the door, alone in the hallway, nobody saw Rain smile.

* * *

'You could fit a _whole_ Nargle in there, did you know?'

Cat was blinking owlishly at him, her head cocked slightly. Her long silver-blonde hair glowed a soft gold in the late evening library torchlight. James clicked his jaws shut tight, half a yawn now trapped in there somewhere.

'Kattala, are we sure these Nargles even _exist?_ I for one have yet to come across any reliable literature outlining their description, behavioural characteristics, or even a known distribution map.' Cassie was currently in the throes of battle with a yawn of her own, one tiny fist stuffed entirely in her mouth, her eyes beginning to water.

'Mother has published _several_ treatises-'

 _Whump._

James had subtly gone for his wand, levitating all three sets of study books, quills and parchment, and dropping them in a pile on the floor. Two sets of eyes, one blue and one brown, snapped to face him, twin flares of irritation burning through mirrored films of tiredness.

He flashed them a cheeky grin, making for the floor next to his own half-finished essay on the social hierarchy of Merpeople.

Argument successfully avoided. He _hated_ it when those two argued. He had been incredibly proud of himself, drawing them both out separately to complete an essay for Professor Trellsen's Magic of Hogwarts class. The class was another of Renshaw's "bright ideas" and required a level of input similar to Theory of Magic class, which James had decided must be about the same as most regular N.E.W.T courses.

He knew that, deep down, the pair could actually _like_ each other, but for some reason they just wouldn't admit it, to themselves or anybody. He recognised the same spark of excitement in Cassie's eyes when she devoured a lengthy report on the Strength and Flow of Magical Flux across Southern Britain, as Cat showed when describing the mating habits of a Crumple-Horned Snorcack. They both _lived_ for knowledge, yet seemed unable to recognise that trait in each other.

James had to bite down on a stray giggle as the girls performed an almost-identical huffing noise, followed by twinned irritated hair-flicks. Cat's long glowing and pale; Cassie's short, rich and dark.

'If you've messed the order of my essay James Potter,' Cassie threatened.

At the same time Cat growled 'If you've crumpled my Snorcack…'

The two girls looked at each other, frozen. Their mouths were hovering half-open. James was beaming, a gleeful, idiotic smile splitting his face. For a moment both girls looked sheepish, then – out of nowhere – a giant book clobbered James over the back of the head, knocking him face-forward into the carpet. When he finally gathered his wits once more a pair of far-too-smug-looking dragons were grinning back up at him from the cover, matched by a pair of painfully innocent-looking girls seated gracefully either side of him, for all the world appearing as if they were attending the most civilised of tea parties.

The hours continued to crawl by, dragging progress on their essays grudgingly along in tow. James had more scribbles and rewrites on his parchment than actual text, and his head was beginning to hurt – no longer solely from the lump left by Cassie's Dragon Book.

The three were currently sat back-to-back-to-back, atop the plush rug at the centre of a clearing within the forested shelves of the inner Library. Their legs were arrayed out like a three-pointed star, lopsided as Cat's were so much longer than the others'. Yawns and stretches were beginning to overtake the sound of the scratching of quills, and James could now feel Cat nodding off, her head resting atop his own, a long curtain of silvery hair falling down and tickling his face repeatedly.

All of a sudden, Cassie leapt up with an excited 'Oh!' causing James and Cat to tumble to the floor in a tangle of limbs, robes and silver hair. James pushed himself up, spitting out mouthfuls of Cat's _damned_ hair, to see what all the excitement was about. Cat seemed content to continue her nap, making a tiny mewling sound as she sucked gently on her thumb in her slumber.

'What's all the fuss about,' James grumbled.

'That book,' Cassie urged, pointed to a spine labelled _The Flattering Fish: A guide to Mermish Social Castes through the Ages._

'Huh?' James replied intelligently.

'I _want_ it. Everyone in second year keeps checking it out and hiding it; it has _all_ the information for this essay in it, but there is only a single copy.'

'Oh.'

By this stage Cassie was up on the tips of her toes, straining desperately to reach the book. She was a good foot short, and her comical leaping up and down wasn't doing so much to help the situation as it was to send James into fits of laughter.

'Let the big boys sort this one for you,' James grinned, pushing Cassie gently aside. She slapped his back repeatedly, the heat of her infuriated gaze burning a hole through his robes.

Rather embarrassingly, James was short by about half an inch from being able to reach up and grab the book himself.

'Do you need a grown-up?' Cat chimed in smugly, having woken up during James and Cassie's scuffle.

She glided past him, retrieving the book with ease and handing it to Cassie. The pair linked arms and simpered off back to the table to pore over their new prize.

'That's rich coming from someone who was just sucking their thumb,' James muttered sullenly.

Cat's cheeks flushed, and she cast her gaze downward, but Cassie did enough glaring for the both of them.

James briefly wondered if his grand plan to get the pair to become friends was such a great idea after all.

He threw himself down on the third chair, sullen and tired. His eyes quickly glazed over as Cassie raved about how hard she had been searching for this book all week. She prized it open almost reverently, to the sound of James ripping out another jaw-cracking yawn. Both girls rolled their eyes in identical fashion.

The book fell open instantly to a promising looking page that had been bookmarked by a previous user.

'Ooh, a Quibbler!' Cat exclaimed excitedly, snatching up the crumpled magazine that had been marking the spot. It bore a diagram of a strange-looking creature on the front that appeared vaguely familiar to James.

'Must we?' Cassie muttered, head falling into her hands.

Cat hugged the crumpled magazine to her chest briefly.

'Oh I just _love_ Nargles,' she exclaimed.

This time it was James and Cassie with the identical eye-rolls.

'This issue was such a good one,' Cat continued, spreading the pages out before them. 'It had _Nine Noxious No-Nos; the Plants every Witch and Wizard should Avoid,_ and a really great article on milking Gnome Saliva – it has healing properties, did you know? And then there was my favourite story, a really good one on- oh.'

She was blinking down at the magazine; the page in question had been torn right out, leaving a ragged edge and a single, metallic-blue letter 'M'. Cat's face was aghast at the very thought that someone could deface such precious property in such a reckless manner. James thought she was about to well up, when something about the 'M' jogged his memory.

'Hold on a second…'

He dug around in the bottom of his bag, rummaging through old quills and empty ink pots – and a single stray sock that he had lost the pair to – before coming up with a crinkled sheet that had, until this very morning, been lying discarded beneath his bed. Clip had finally got fed up and told him to tidy the damned thing. James had popped it in the bottom of his bag and subsequently forgot about it – until now.

He smoothed it out atop the rest of the _Quibbler,_ lining it up to a near-perfect fit. A chilling sensation ran through him momentarily; judging by the way these two parts matched up, that _exact_ magazine had been languishing in the bottom of his waste paper basket in the boys' dormitory several weeks ago. He remembered tearing a page out to rub dirt off of him following Herbology club. The stains still remained on the article he had drawn forth.

'How is it,' Cassie sighed, 'that you happen to have the _exact_ other half of this magazine, James Potter? I am beginning to tire of these mysterious happenings that seem to follow you; this one is undoubtedly going to somehow end up being detrimental to my health.'

'I dunno,' James admitted, 'I tore that sheet out weeks ago to clean dirt off of my hands. The rest-'

'You _what?'_ Cat gasped, mortified.

'I, er…'

'What does the article say, anyway?' Cassie prompted, cutting off the explosion before it could happen.

Cat emitted a very frosty huff and flattened the paper out so all could read.

 _Ministry's Hidden War continues; Casualties Mount_

 _In a move kept suspiciously secret from all but the most inner circles at the Ministry of Magic last week, a second squadron of Steelhearts were deployed to an unknown offshore location to continue further assaults on unspecified targets._

 _This secondary deployment follows the tragic news – again largely swept under the proverbial rug – that last week several Ministry officials were lost, presumed dead, somewhere in the North Atlantic Ocean. Speculation is rife among those in the know, but the general consensus is that this is a punitive force, sent to seek recompense following an attack that has likely left no fewer than six families torn apart by the Ministry's reckless actions._

 _Neither the Minister for Magic, nor his crony, Galatea Renshaw – current Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – could be reached for comment on the matter, but several sources who wish to remain anonymous at this time have provided insight onto the movement of Ministry forces offshore._

' _Informant X' as he shall be known, has indicated that this is in response to a disturbing upwelling of magical power, and damage to the local Flux field in this offshore region, which is rumoured to have begun sometime around mid-July. This raises the question of who could produce such a startling event, and our minds, dear reader, are drawn to the infamous Desecrator, who ran rife last year, eluding the hapless Steelheart's and narrowly escaping the clutches of our brave Aurors. Has he or she returned for another round of chaos? Is this the beginning of something even bigger? What fate lies ahead for those sent on this second expedition? Stay tuned, Quibbler faithful, for rest assured that together we shall get to the bottom of this story!_

Cassie sighed audibly.

'Of _course_ it's about something mysterious and ominous. Why couldn't your missing article be about lawn maintenance, or personal finance? _Noooo_ , it just has to be about something that could very likely kill us all.

'I _told_ you, James Potter, at the very start of first year, I don't do mysterious, I don't do dangerous, and I _certainly_ don't do anything even remotely relating to some overseas battle.'

She began packing her books up hastily, not making eye contact with either of them. James reached out and grabbed her wrist gently, enclosing one of her tiny hands wholly in his own.

'Cassie,' he urged, 'we're _not_ going to fight anybody's war. This is half a world away, this Desecrator – if it even _is_ him, has left the country. He must know that he'll be caught if he stays. My dad, and uncle Ron and aunt Hermione are all looking out for him. They beat _Voldemort;_ some guy who likes destroying sacred things is no match for them.'

James knew he had cheated a little; he had mentioned his Aunt Hermione – the one person that Cassie idolised above anyone, except maybe the inventor of books.

'I just-' she sniffed, 'I just want a _normal_ year, where I can study and _learn,_ James. Those are the things that I think are fun, not running around being chased by people who want to kill me.'

'I know. This year, there will be no looking for trouble. No Preston Lynch to throw you in the water, no F.A.R.T club to tear the year apart, no angry Lenders or Steelhearts or getting turned into a gold statue-'

She gave a tiny, hiccupping sob at that.

'- and no almost getting killed by any family members. I promise.'

She nodded, and James gave her hand a squeeze before letting it fall to her side. Secretly he was burning with curiosity about what exactly it was that the Ministry were up to. The bureaucrats had caused his family no end of trouble of the summer holidays. If he could find a way to turn the tables and make _them_ look incompetent, then maybe his family wouldn't get such a hard time at work.

The three began to pack up their things, curfew looming over the group, casting a long shadow. Cassie pocketed the book on the Merfolk, but left the Quibbler well alone. They parted ways at the base of the Ravenclaw Tower, and Cat slipped her arm through James' as the pair made their way back to bed together.

'So, James,' she said smugly, 'how badly do you want to find out _exactly_ what is going on at the Ministry?'

James' jaw dropped. How had she _known?_

'I… I don't…' he stammered unconvincingly.

'I can always tell when you lie, James. Always. And besides, today is Blue; and Blue means opportunity.'

James looked out the window; it looked pretty black out there to him.

'Oh, well erm… in that case, pretty badly.'

'Well you're in luck. Guess who is coming to Hogwarts next week?'

'Erm…'

'The editor-in-chief of the Quibbler, herself!'

'Oh, er, and that is?'

She paused and withdrew her arm to slap him playfully.

'It's my mother, you Grindylow fart!'

'Oh, right.' Cogs were whirring in his head; time to get some _real_ information.

'Nice try, getting Cassandra and I together to try and bring us closer, by the way,' Cat said offhandedly.

'What? I didn't-'

'You're lying, James Potter,' she did her best mimicry of Cassie's much posher accent.

James' cheeks flushed. How could she _tell?_

'I've never had a real friend before, one that would do that for me. It was… sweet.'

She grabbed his hand in hers and turned to continue on, leaving James no choice but to follow. He couldn't help but reciprocate her genuinely happy smile as she hummed pleasantly all the way up to bed.

Friday evening arrived, bringing with it a continued unseasonal cold. The storm still raged outdoors, the Black Lake looked like high sea amidst a fearsome gale. James was wearing Rain's scarf that she had left behind in Duelling club, grateful for the extra warmth. It smelled strongly of her, a distractingly enticing scent, so fresh and clear. Like the crispness in the air following a heavy downpour.

James was inexplicably nervous. Their last meeting had hardly ended well; he had been unable to find her since. Cassie had said she was spending more and more of her time with the Slytherin group, avoiding them almost entirely. He hoped that returning her scarf with an apology might make up some of the lost ground.

After a somewhat tense run-in with Viola Greengrass at the entrance to the Slytherin common room, James had picked up Holly, and the two of them were making their way through the castle to meet Rain together. After all, he had decided, Holly had been there too. She had a right to know what had gone on; her recollections were as hazy as his were, a fact that was leading to an increasing sense of discomfort in the pair of them.

'She's friends with her now, did you know?' Holly snarled, gesturing her head back towards the slate grey doors of her common room. Holly was armoured similarly against the cold; a scarf of her own, as well as a thick dressing gown and very plush, very pink slippers.

'Who is?' James asked distractedly as they climbed the staircase.

'Rain. She practically _lives_ in our common room. Barely says a word to me, though. Then again, nobody does.'

The moonlight shining brightly in through the high arched windows cast Holly's forlorn face into a sterling silver mask of melancholy. James felt a pang of guilt; it had largely been his actions that had led to this, after all.

'She's been _weird_ this year,' James assented.

'She's _always_ been weird. This year she's distant. I sort of thought we'd be friends, her and I. Both outcasts, most people look at us a little funny, pretty lonely existence, led by her and I.'

Holly's face flushed, her gaze fixed down on the smooth tiles at their feet.

'I invited her around over summer,' she admitted. 'You'd think I'd asked her to give up her firstborn child, the way she looked at me. She doesn't _talk_ to people, James. Not really. Except you, for some reason.'

'Hmm,' James muttered, thinking on it. 'And Cassie, for the most part.'

'I suppose so, but she sure doesn't look at Cassie the way she looks at you.'

James ruminated on that momentarily, a scary thought in itself. Was that why her attention always made him feel giddy? Tristan had laughed it off as James growing something called a libido, whatever that was, but James couldn't shake the feeling that it was something more sinister, more intentional than that. After all, no one else had admitted to similar feelings around her.

'She said I make her laugh once,' he muttered idly.

Holly scoffed. 'Rain doesn't _laugh._ Did you ever see Headmistress McGonagall laugh? Did Voldemort ever laugh? I don't even think she knows what a laugh _is.'_

'She used to do a sort of giggle thing when she was taking all those potions last year.'

'Hmm. More weird stuff. I've never heard of someone having to take so many potions at once before, there's almost always a negative long-term side effect.'

'Like forgetting who your friends are?'

They lapsed into silence for a while as they ascended the third floor staircase, four hands tucked firmly into four lined pockets, tiny curls of mist roiling in the air before them. A stray draft gusted in from a shattered window, stinging exposed skin and causing the two to huddle in on themselves even further.

'How does she _know?'_ Holly finally blurted out. 'Like, how is it that she is the only one able to remember what happened up there? Renshaw told us… something. Something that doesn't seem to match up or make sense. Teddy was under the Imeprius Curse and can't remember. Professor Meadows is _conveniently_ ignoring you and anyone you touch. That leaves us with _her_ as out sole source of information. We're relying on her yet again. It just seems… suspicious to me, that's all.'

James' steps slowed, and he tugged a hand out to run along the bannister thoughtfully, remaining silent as the grooves and nicks in the worked stone slid beneath his gloved palm. He hadn't even thought of it like that, his mind just wasn't wired to work that way. That was the Slytherin in Holly, he supposed, seeing past the surface, calculating who gained what from each exchange, keeping a running count of who had a leg up where, and what everyone else could do to try and pull them back down.

'I think we just have to trust her. Before all of this she was our friend. I guess I'd be feeling a bit weird if I got kidnapped and taken to be part in some dark ritual as well. Maybe she just needs some adjusting. She- she said she feels _lonely._ She's never tried to hurt us, and we don't even know what Renshaw wants. Maybe _she_ was lying to us.'

Holly nodded, and the silence waxed once more. There was a lot to think about for the pair of them, a lot to confront. Not a word was shared until they were face to face with Rain a few minutes later.

'You have my scarf, James Potter.'

The three of them were locked inside an empty store room, down a secret passageway that led from the Ravenclaw tower on the seventh floor all the way down to the kitchens in the basement. It was oft-frequented by the elves, apparently, though they had encountered none thus far.

'Er, yea you left in at duelling club,' James stammered, unwinding the smooth cloth from his neck to hand it to her.

'No, keep it, it will keep you warm and safe, and besides, you suit purple.'

Holly giggled.

'It's navy blue,' James growled.

That _almost_ got a smile out of Rain.

She was currently perched on the edge of a rickety chair, the largest of three she had conjured up for them – a feat which had elicited a low, impressed whistle from Holly. As was her wont, she was sat with all the grace of the most distinguished princess, hands folded in her lap, legs crossed in a most ladylike manner, still as a statue. Holly was currently sucking on the end of a long black lock of hair, hugging her knees on the stool next to James.

James' gaze flicked back and forth between the two girls. His lips pressed together, and he shrugged his shoulders.

'So…'

'Shh,' hissed Rain, holding up a single, gracile finger. James noticed by the flickering light that it was lacquered a deep, rich purple.

Just about matching his scarf.

Upon closer inspection, James noticed that Rain's lips were moving fervently, whispering too quiet for either of them to hear. Holly was staring openly, her mouth hanging slightly agape, strand of hair half fallen down across her chest, damp. Rain's long, slender wand was held deftly in her left hand, and she began to trace patterns into the dusty floor between the three of them. Swirls, arcs and tangents. If it was a language, the letters all seemed to be based on circular shapes, and there was a symmetrical sort of beauty to it, the way she flowed from one character to another. Small trails of dust followed the track of her wand, and a soft rushing sound began to build as she completed her diagram.

At first it seemed like an errant ray of moonlight was filtering through the tattered curtains, to bathe the diagram before them, but before long James realised that the diagram _itself_ was the source of the light. A soft, shimmering silver glow, burgeoning as Rain's wand worked ceaselessly. Her words seemed to flow forth from her lips, settling down upon the surface, adding to the shifting sheen, providing their weight in the form of pure magic. The air around them was still now, the draft that had been slipping in beneath the poorly-fitted door was nowhere to be seen, the curtains hung limp and lifeless. A feeling descended upon James as if he had been dunked into water at great depth, a pressure suddenly enveloped him, causing him to clap his hands to ears, and cry out in alarm. Even he didn't hear the sound of his own voice.

The rushing continued to build, gathering in force like a river, building to a crescendo as it hurtled towards a waterfall, tumultuous rapids churning and frothing. James could feel it, whatever _it_ was, picking him up along that current, dragging him forth, though he knew full well that his feet hadn't left the floor.

Yet when he looked down, Rain's diagram looked much closer, and glowed much, much brighter. It began to fill his vision, he tried to take a step back, but the air felt as thick as syrup, and he no longer had control over his limbs. Panic began to rise in his throat, and he tasted bile. Soon the silver glow was all that he saw, and he was falling toward it, or was it rising to meet him? He screamed a wordless howl as the light engulfed him, desperately trying to throw his arms out to clutch at his friends-

' _Ow!_ James, what the- ouch, that really hurt!'

James stared dumbly down at his bruised knuckle, then across to Holly, doubled over and clutching her left eye tenderly. Rain watched on with a smirk.

'Oh, Merlin! Holly, I'm so sorry, I'm- wait. I'm in the Entrance Hall?'

'Indeed you are, James Potter. You do make the most astute of observations.'

Holly straightened up, squinting around what promised to be a rather healthy black eye.

'What the- how did- was that- _you_ did this?'

'I did indeed,' Rain said with a smile.

James studied her, aghast. _What_ had she done? Where were they? _When_ were they? Even as he looked at her, he noticed her sway slightly on the spot, and in the light – now emanating from a late afternoon sun – he noticed that the colour had all but drained from her cheeks. Her smile was tight, drawn and pained, the corners of those sea-green eyes were lined. She looked _washed out_ , a pale, watercolour version of her true self. Even that brilliant red-gold hair was lacking lustre.

'Are you ok?' James asked; it seemed more important than worrying about where they were, right now.

She smiled – genuinely this time – and waved off his concern. 'You flatter me with your concern, James, but I shall be fine. What I did, that magic, it draws a lot of my strength, and continues to do so. If we are to discover the truth behind that fateful night, I suggest we do so with haste; my body shall not be able to withstand much more of this punishment, back in our world.'

'Wait, _our_ world?' Holly's question came out as a squeak.

'Perhaps a little melodramatic of me. This, too is our world, or a Shade of it. A Memory, I believe it is called. You are familiar with a Pensive, no? Well the spell I just performed is something of a temporary Pensive, allowing us to observe a single memory, together. However, with this spell, our bodies remain in that dingy store room, we have not physically left; it is only our minds that wander.'

'That sounds…'

'Dangerous,' James finished.

'Not to those who know how to control it. It's a spell I've known for- rest assured that I am in control. Now, as I mentioned, we must observe.'

James shot Rain a concerned look, did she appear even more faded than when they had arrived? Which memory was this, exactly, and why were they wasting so much time talking about it?

Before he could seek any answers to his questions, Rain turned and trotted off up the staircase. James and Holly followed suit. Much to James' alarm, and shortly his chagrin, they stumbled across _themselves_ tumbling out of the Staff Room doorway. He watched with growing discomfort as Holly pressed a finger first to Fred's lips, and then to Tristan. James felt a flush as – not three feet from where they now stood – Holly Brooks leaned in and kissed him on the lips. The memory seemed to pause for a minute. He and Holly shared a most fleeting, sheepish look. Her cheeks were burning as hot as his felt. She placed a large strand of hair in her mouth and studied the tiles beneath her feet intensely.

Rain looked between the pair, silent. The slight widening of her eyes and the sharp arch to her brow said all that was needed.

The three followed their memory-selves through the castle on their way, first down to the Slytherin common room, and then up towards the eighth floor. It all seemed to play out exactly according to James' real memory. They had established this; it was only once they were actually up _in_ the eighth floor that their stories diverged.

James couldn't help but laugh as he saw memory-Holly with an almost identical black eye and matching slippers as real-Holly, after her scuffle in the Slytherin girls' dormitory. That earned him a sharp elbow in the ribs from real-Holly, and an approving nod and tight smile from Rain.

His concern for her was beginning to mount, as the group approached the eighth floor. She was fading at an alarming rate, he was unsure if she would last the entire memory. What would happen if she just disappeared? How would they find their way out again? James winced as Fred darted off with a Steelheart hot on his heels near the entrance to the eighth floor, his heart rate was building now, and he reached out and gave Holly's hand a nervous squeeze. Rain coolly led the way through the door, following their memories into the unknown.

As soon as James stepped foot in the eighth floor, he knew something was terribly wrong. A great, ringing gong sound crashed over them, causing Rain to stagger physically. He clapped his hands to his ears as it rang out, again and again, battering all three of them to their knees. Rain was now flickering in and out of existence, horrific pain etched across her face, her usually-serene features contorted in a soul-tearing, soundless shriek. James tried to push himself to his feet and move forwards, but the ground shook beneath him as if he were caught in a violent earthquake. He reached out to grab Holly's robe – any form of real contact in this frightening, alien world. Rain was almost completely gone now, only the faintest hint of her outline remained, still fixed in that mask of terror.

Colour drained from the world. Ochre stones faded through sepia to grey, torchlight dulled into insignificance, and details of their surroundings blurred, like he had put on his father's glasses. Bleak greyness surrounded them, a voice rang out, a thousand voices, all feminine, but too loud and too many to make out any single words. He felt cold tiles beneath his palms – real world tiles – and gasped, spitting out a lungful of dusty air. Holly was screaming repeatedly next to him, eyes unseeing, hands scrabbling at thin air before her. Rain was worryingly silent, convulsing slightly on the floor before him, shudders racking her body every second or so.

He lunged over to Holly, grabbing her face, forcing those silver-grey eyes to look into his own, projecting as much calming and reassurance towards her was as he possibly could. Eventually, she calmed down as she returned from the Memory, her breathing ragged and fitful. Curiously, her black eye had followed her back.

They looked over at Rain in unison; she remained deathly still, save for the occasional full-body twitch. The shining silver pattern on the floor had faded to a dull, muted pewter, and James cried out in alarm, as he noted a thick, black ichor flowing up _from_ the Memory, _into_ Rain. With each pulse of the fluid, her body convulsed, and that terrible mask that bore such pain, tightened even further.

Wordlessly, the two dove over to her, lifting her bodily away from that Taint. James could see where it was flowing, up the left sleeve of her robe. He knew exactly where it was flowing towards, exactly what would be drawing it in.

They needed a Healer, fast.

They burst out the door, into the narrow, dingy house-elf corridor. Rain was still breathing – barely. They bolted down to the left, shoving through a heavy tapestry and out into the corridor. James had no idea to whom he should take her. Six months ago he would have said Professor Meadows, but he just wasn't sure any more. Professor Longbottom was the only other teacher he really trusted, so they made for his ground floor offices, hoping he was still there at this late hour.

The two of them awkwardly carrying a third, made slow progress, and crashed into a suit of armour on the second floor, shattering the relative quiet of the night. James could see the corridor down towards the office, a dim light still shining forth beneath the crack in the door. One last flight of stairs, he urged himself, through the fire of burning muscles and an aching back.

Ten more stairs, five…

'Now, now children. You _do_ look like you have been up to no good.'

James froze. He knew that voice. Its source was hard to pick at first, dressed in black silks as she usually was. He gulped nervously, sharing a mortified glance with Holly.

They were dead.


	8. Chapter 8 - RIP

_A/N: I was always a little dubious and/or incredulous when authors claimed that their computers died and they lost all of their work/couldn't post anything. I often wondered if the entire Fanfiction community was running on 64MB hard drives from 1995. That was right up until a fortnight ago when my very own noble steed viciously betrayed me, breaking free of her mortal coil and casting me off to land sputtering and hapless in the dust._

 _What I'm really saying is that my hard drive died a very dead death almost two weeks ago, and I lost everything for this story. And I mean eeeeeeverything. Save for 3600 words of this here chapter which I had been working on and kept on my OneDrive, the rest of it is all gone. All the planning, the diagrams, future chapters and parts of chapters I had written, all the 'ships I had planned and outlined. Even my planning for the rest of this book was gone._

 _Needless to say, I was a broken man for a while, and couldn't look twice at this story without feeling dead inside. But as some dickhead once said; the show must go on, and here we are with chapter 8, which shall forever be remembered as the most heartbreaking chapter of this entire series for me, no matter how many characters may die, none will have the same impact that this single death has had._

 _Pointless moping aside, this is a good time to introduce my new plan, which involves more chapters (and more regular updates) but they will be shorter, around this lenght (4-6k words) rather than the 7-10k behemoths I had been spitting out which were, in themselves, rather taxing._

 _Rest assured, my valued readers, that this story shall indeed continue. It will likely look very different to what it once would have, but change can be a good thing if we can learn to adapt. For now, we are back, and boy are we pumped._

* * *

Brilliant white light caused James to squint uncontrollably. He couldn't focus on anything else in the room; every time he turned his head the light seemed to follow him, as if it were enchanted to produce the maximum amount of discomfort possible. The room was cold, much colder even than the castle outside, and he was shivering, despite his extra layers and Rain's scarf. He clenched his teeth, as a bead of cold, nervous sweat trickled down the nape of his neck. His nose stung from the heady smell of burning incense, overpowering to the exclusion of all else, making him drowsy and ill at the same time.

This was by far the most uncomfortable trip to the Headmistress' office that James Potter had ever experienced. He could sense Holly next to him, rather than see her, as the light that emanated from that hovering silver orb seemed intent to block out even visual contact of one another. Renshaw herself was in a back room, having taken Rain from them the instant she had found them upon the staircase.

James shifted awkwardly in the hard, wooden chair. The back was too upright, and a small knot of stubborn pain in his spine was beginning to eat away at his remaining sanity. He dared not get up, he dared not even _speak,_ for fear of bringing Renshaw's wrath down upon them.

So far she had seemed calm, suspiciously so. She had quizzed them momentarily as they made their way briskly to her office. James and Holly had tried to lie, but their stories had matched more poorly than their recollection of what had really happened that night on the eighth floor, and James was certain that they were about to be found out. The promise of the anger was almost worse than the ire itself; they just _knew_ that she was going to blow up at them. As soon as she returned, most likely. Her temper was legendary, James had been told. It was said that she was the most calm witch ever to live, right up until the point when she lost it, and she could out-yell a banshee, or stare down a Basilisk, so the rumours went.

James was dangling his feet in the air, brushing the plush, dark carpet with his toes when she finally did arrive. The glaring light winked out, and was replaced by something much softer, more soothing. A muted bronze glow flickered from a single oil lamp perched upon her desk. Dark enough to send shadows climbing acrobatically up the walls, writhing and twisting as if caught beneath the Cruciatus Curse.

She perched on the edge of her desk again, as she seemed wont to do in these situations. Pregnant silence reigned momentarily as she studied the nervous children. James was too scared to cast a glance over at Holly, but he could sense her shivering next to him; from fear or cold he did not know.

A single arm swept outwards, as if making a grandiose gesture and all of a sudden the temperature of the room was raised at least ten degrees. James let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, and rubbed some life into his stiffened limbs. The coiled tenseness refused to abate, however, and he saw the same cornered stance in Holly, that way her eyes darted around the room and her fingers twitched, as if a split second from going for her wand.

'I do so hate the cold, children, don't you?' Renshaw unfolded her arms from beneath her breasts and laid them out either side of her on the table, palms down. She leaned back slightly, arching her back as if stiff and inhaling the burning incense deeply through her nose. She gave a full body shudder, and faced them once more with a sultry smile tugging the corner of her deep-purple lips.

James nodded, feeling a little less enervated. Holly remained guarded.

'Oh come now you two, if you insist on behaving like insolent children, you shall be treated thus. _I_ for one, think you were most right in seeking help for your friend. And not a moment too soon, I should add.'

James opened his mouth, a flood of questions seeking to burst forth in a sudden burst of eloquence, but Renshaw waved a hand and flashed him a broad smile.

'She will be fine James. Your concern for others does you credit, but I should not be surprised, given your heritage. Now, I am not here to yell at either one of you; as I said, if you level with me, you shall be treated as adults. There is a maturity in the both of you, beyond your years. A startling empathy, if you will, that manifested itself in a way last year. Sadly, however, action must be calculated. Only fools rush in, and that which I am sure was a grand and loving gesture could easily have become something unbearably more tragic.

'For two students so clever, I must ask that you never again decide to be so dangerously stupid.'

Her tone was not unkind, and Galatea Renshaw even chuckled a little at her own joke. James felt his eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline. The relief throughout the room was palpable, and he saw Holly deflate visibly next to him, sinking into a more relaxed pose, the strand of hair she had been nervously sucking on falling down to her chest.

'What I do need to know, however, is exactly what the three of you were up to tonight. I'm aware that it may not have been within the realms of the school rules, but I must know regardless, if I am to help Miss Rain to recover.'

James was still feeling so relieved about not being shouted at, flayed, expelled or turned to stone, that he began spilling their plans before he could stop himself.

'It was a memory spell, we were trying to look at a memory,' he blurted out. Renshaw smiled kindly at him, gesturing with a perfectly-manicured hand for him to continue. 'Rain cast a spell that made some sort of Pensive. It looked quite complex, and drained her energy a lot – more than she thought it would – and then we went inside it to look-'

'-and see if it would work,' Holly butted in, cutting across James. He looked at her, unreasonably cross for a brief second, before realising that he had been about to divulge something that might actually get them Petrified after all.

Renshaw's gaze switched targets, hardening as it did so. James ran a hand nervously through his hair, chewing on his bottom lip. Could she smell out a lie like Cat seemed to be able to do? To her credit, Holly stood firm, returning the gaze levelly. She coolly tucked a single lock of midnight hair in behind her ear, outwardly unfazed.

'Rain had read about the spell over the holidays, and thought that she might like to try it. She trusts us the most, obviously, having shown true friendship towards her last year. She values that; perhaps _only_ that…

'Anyway, she had the spell, she tried it, but when we tried to enter the memory – just a random one from the Hogwarts Express – it spat us out. James, with all his Gryffindor chivalry, managed to punch me in the face in the turmoil, and when we regained out bearings Rain was as you found her. We immediately sought help, James suggested Professor Longbottom.'

Had the situation been any less tense James would have whistled aloud, impressed. _There_ was a Slytherin at work, and not just any Slytherin; one of the best, as far as he was concerned.

'Very well, Miss Brooks. As I said, your actions are to be commended, given the circumstances. The fact does remain, however, that trialling dangerous, powerful magic such as this is an egregious disregard for the school rules. As such, you shall both lose fifty points from your respective houses. James, I shall be informing Master O'Flaherty of this misdemeanour, and should another such incident occur, I will make certain that you will no longer be a part of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, for the remainder of your time at Hogwarts. Am I understood?'

James felt like he had been kicked in the gut. No Quidditch for the _entire_ Hogwarts? Floods of nervous energy were washing through him as he nodded meekly, leaving his extremities tingling unsettlingly.

'I don't mean to be harsh, Mister Potter. Anger ill befits a situation such as this, and sharp words can cut deep. I don't want you ever to feel like you can't come to me in a situation such as this. I will always, _always_ , be here for you.'

At this point she pushed herself forwards from the desk, gliding soundlessly over to where the pair were sat. She crouched down before him, taking one of his hands in both of her own, softly massaging his palm.

'In saying that, however, rules _are_ rules. No special treatment shall be meted out. Firm, but fair. Do you not agree, Miss Brooks?'

Holly started, evidently having been caught up in some idle reverie. She nodded slowly, her eyes calculating.

'I find myself in a strange position when it comes to this young girl,' her hands were still working on James' own, and a warm, placating feeling was slowly washing up towards his shoulder, easing away the tension and sapping his nervous energy, leaving him relaxed, enervated, his guard lowered. He could trust Renshaw, he knew it. 'I have what most people would call a… soft spot for the girl, I suppose. Both outsiders, she and I. both the subject of countless rumours, few of them pleasant. Oft talked-about, seldom consulted. I see a lot of myself in her – well, in _some_ of her, anyway – and she, like myself, will greatly value your continued loyalty and friendship, the pair of you. If you are willing to become our friends, then our relationship shall blossom indeed. Does that not sound amenable, Mister Potter? Miss Brooks? It really is so little to ask, after all.'

She was still working his hand, and James found himself sinking into her touch. He wanted nothing more than to be her 'friend' although being friends with a forty-something year old woman seemed a bit silly, now he thought of it. He giggled. Headmistress Renshaw was always so funny.

He didn't even notice that the entire time his head was nodding in unreserved acquiescence.

'That's excellent, James. You head along now, off back to bed. Rain will be fine; you can visit tomorrow, if you like. Miss Brooks, if you could stay behind, I have one more thing to discuss with you.'

Renshaw let go of his hand, and James obediently popped up off the chair, turning towards the door. He no longer felt worried about leaving Holly alone with Renshaw, or even curious as to what they would talk about – they were all _friends_ , after all. He squeezed Holly on the shoulder as he left, mouthing 'Good night.' She reached up and brushed his arm, smiling a little tightly.

By the time James reached his bedroom, he had forgotten that Holly had stayed behind at all.

Fred was incredibly sulky the next morning, upon finding out that James had gone on an "adventure", as he called it, and taken a _girl_ over him. James had tried to explain what it was about, and that he would have told Freddy anyway, but his best friend didn't seem to be buying it.

'Maybe _I_ can replace _you_ with a girl, next time we do something together,' Fred shot across the table at him.

'If you ask James nicely,' Tristan piped up, making his way over from the Hufflepuff table. 'He's got a set of frankly exquisite diagrams on just what you and this girl could go and do _together_.'

'Yuck, Tristan,' Fred growled. 'Why do you even _keep_ those?' he shot at James.

'He keeps hiding them in my bag,' James grumbled, fishing out a fresh fistful of parchment, complete with some rather crude-looking stick-figure drawings. The phrase "Logistical Optimisation" was scrawled across the top. James didn't even _want_ to know. 'I've got damn near half a trunk full of them now. I think he's in league with the house elves; every time I toss one, it bloody reappears. Can't Vanish 'em, can't throw 'em, and you sure as heck don't want to try and burn 'em. I learnt _that_ the hard way.'

Tristan was maintaining an air of aloof indifference throughout all of this, but James could practically feel the smugness radiating off of him in waves.

'Ready for a big loss today, lads?' Tristan jabbed, switching the topic of conversation to the day's Quidditch match between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor.

'As _if_ ,' Fred shot back. You guys got _embarrassed_ by the 'Claws, and they're not even _good_. Aside from Brick-Wall Ogleby, their team is nothing.'

Tristan shrugged confidently. 'I wouldn't be so sure about that. How about a friendly little wager?'

James tuned out as the two boys discussed terms – making sure to avoid any mention of Galleons, for fear of bringing the attention of the ever-present Lenders down upon them.

For some reason, the nerves weren't as strong this morning for James. He had eaten a full breakfast; eggs, toast, porridge _and_ cereal. Truth be told, he was now feeling a little _too_ full, if anything. Perhaps it was the dismal performance that Hufflepuff had put in on their last match against Ravenclaw; perhaps it was the fact that this time there was no way that he was going to lose to Odette Bloody Mansfield.

He absentmindedly swung his gaze across to the Slytherin table, searching for her regular spot, near the top end, by the teachers. He spied her straw-blonde hair almost instantly, artfully crafted into a style more suiting a formal dance party than a Quidditch match. She was currently deep in discussion with three other girls that James recognised as third year; the group was hanging on to every word she said, laughing loudly at all of the proper occasions.

As if the weight of his stare alone had summoned her, she spun about in her seat suddenly, latching onto his gaze with a burning intensity. He started, tearing his eyes away as quickly as he could manage, but not before the roving, assessing weight of her sultry regard left him feeling like he needed a shower.

He banged the table with his fist; where was Rain when you needed her?

' _Eek!'_

James looked around in confusion for the source of panic, and located Cat, who had just sat down opposite him, staring at him avidly, horror etched across her face.

'What, what is it?' James asked frantically, casting his gaze wildly over his person. 'Is there something on me? Is it a bug?'

Fred burst out laughing, which did nothing to help defuse the situation.

Cat lowered the pair of garish, faintly glowing, pink-and-green eyeglasses that she had been wearing, then proceeded to place them back on her nose. She repeated this three or four times, each time she donned them she would flinch a little, shuddering as if she was witnessing something heinous.

'James, you… what is _wrong_ with you?'

'I do believe I have a list for just such an occasion,' Cassie remarked slyly, sliding into a vacant spot near Cat.

'He doesn't take his friends on his adventures,' shot Fred.

'He always walks over to my bed in the dormitory when he needs to let off gas,' Clip chimed in.

'He has a nasty habit of dishing out black eyes,' Holly drawled, appeared behind Cat's shoulder, shooting James a cheeky wink with her one good eye.

'Alright, alright!' James yelled, holding his hands up defensively. 'Merlin, I didn't realise that was an invitation, thanks Cat. Where have you been Holly?'

'I've been studying, with Professor Meadows. Extra Defence classes, that's it. You know how terrible I am at duelling, and all that.'

James raised his eyebrows uncertainly; Holly was probably the best dueller in their entire _year._ She was probably even better than most of third year.

He looked over to the staff table and saw Professor Meadows striding in through a side door, her limp barely evident today. James wasn't sure, but it looked like she actually _greeted_ Professor Longbottom as she took her seat. James hadn't seen her make conversation with anyone the entire term. Poor old Professor Longbottom was left blinking stupidly down at his spoon; he had evidently not planned for such an alarming scenario, either.

Holly sauntered around the table and slid down next to James, eliciting another fearful squeak from the bespectacled Cat.

'Me, now?' Holly asked, confused.

'Well, let me see…' James began.

'I'm a borderline masochistic social outcast who revels in near non-existence. I've got trust issues so deep you could drown the Giant Squid in them, and a cruel streak wide enough to play a game of Quidditch in. Oh, and if I eat an apple I burp for about three hours straight.'

The entire group sat, stunned. James didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

'Your _heads,'_ Cat forged on, evidently either ignorant of or accustomed to the intensely awkward moment.

James and Holly shared an uncertain look. James poked her in the forehead. From the corner of his eye he saw Cassie offering that damned Dragon book to Holly, and decided not to continue down that path.

'They're _full_ of Wrackspurts,' Cat whispered, reverently. 'I've never seen so many… ever. It's like an entire swarm, around each of you.'

The pair shared another uncertain look. James flinched as Holly moved, but she merely waved a hand harmlessly through the air around them.

'You can't scare them off,' Cat stated, matter-of-factly, 'they say that they fly in and out of your ears, they make your brain go fuzzy. Mummy spent some time studying them, and what she found was quite spectacular. It received a gold commendation in the issue of the Quibbler, she tells me.

'She discovered that the Wrackspurts aren't actually the _cause,_ but rather the _effect._ They don't _make_ your brain go fuzzy; they are attracted to fuzzy brains. So, like, if you bump your head really hard, or you've drunk too much Firewhiskey, or… if your thoughts have been tampered with.'

She trailed off and the two shared a worried look. Had last night's foray into their own Memory caused them harm of some kind?

James recounted the details of their escapade to Cat. Fred started sulking all over again, and when James got to the part about Renshaw taking care of Rain, Cat squealed, pointing at the pair of them accusingly.

'It was _her!'_

James looked on, confused.

'It was,' Cat lowered her voice to a whisper; the entire group leaned inwards like they were in a Quidditch huddle. 'Renshaw. She must have done something to you. She's probably tracking your every move, everything you say and do-' Cat gasped.

'She's probably doing all that and more to Rain. We have to rescue her!'

James sighed in relief; he had been genuinely concerned for a while there, but he waved it off casually.

'It wasn't Renshaw, I can guarantee you that,' he said. 'She wouldn't have done anything; she's our friend, she said so. She _likes_ Rain, she wouldn't do anything to try and hurt her.'

Holly chimed in, adding her assent. Cat looked between the pair of them, made a strangled, choking sound before pushing herself back from the table and drawing up to her impressive height.

'I'm getting Mummy to look at _both_ of you, next week,' she said, before turning on her heel and storming off, tears in her eyes.

The group looked at each other uncertainly for a while.

'I'll go and check on her,' Cassie sighed, 'I shan't want to watch this horrid game, anyway. Dreadfully boring, is Quidditch.'

Tristan mumbled something unintelligible under his breath; just as well she hadn't heard, or he might have had an opportunity to get to know that Dragon book of hers.

James' rumbling stomach played duet to his own uncomfortable groan. He pushed himself up from the table clutching his belly a little uncertainly.

'I'm gonna go walk this off before the game.'

'Not like you'll get any game time,' Tristan chided, 'you'll be playing from behind the whole time; the Hydra will need to be out there if you've any chance of winning.'

James waved away the banter and waddled off towards the Entrance Hall, sensing rather than seeing Fred push himself up as well. He had hoped to avoid that particular awkward conversation on the way down to the pitch.

He jerked in alarm as a hand shot out from the Gryffindor table, closing around his upper arm in a vice-like grip. James tried to clutch at his wand with his free left hand, but it quickly became tangled in his cumbersome robe. He let out an involuntary squeak as he was lifted bodily up off of the ground, clamping his jaws shut tight when he realised just who his assailant had been.

'Ryan… alright mate?' James knocked his voice down an octave or two lower than it usually was. It had been quite a feminine little squawk that he had emitted.

Ryan remained silent, his only response to run a hand through his tangled mane of burnished golden hair. His eyes glowed, low and lambent in the morning light, shining out from beneath his heavy brow.

A round of dramatic sighs went up at the table behind them as a slip of Ryan's bicep was exposed by his casual grooming manoeuvre. James rolled his eyes at Fred, who had just joined them, and Ryan frowned uncertainly at the offenders, a cluster of sixth-year girls standing nearby, beneath the sill of a window.

'Good morning, Ryan,' one of them crooned, her voice all strange and breathy. She was fanning herself idly with a notebook, and even as the three boys looked on in confusion, gave a rather grandiose, unnecessary flick of her long auburn hair.

Ryan seemed content not to respond, instead simply rolling his shoulders as if to ease out a knotted muscle. The sighing and book-waving intensified, right up to the point where the leader of the pack decided she'd pluck up the courage and come over to introduce herself-

 _BANG!_

Her notebook exploded right in the palm of her hand, having been violently transfigured into a swarm of giant, furry moths. She screamed, swiping furiously at the horde now swirling about her head. The rest of her friends watched on in panic, her screams drawing the attention of the remainder of the Great Hall who began to point in laughter as the poor girl finally fled in tears from the room, trailed by an incessant fluttering stream of insects.

'Everybody knows Avery hates moths,' Lilian quipped with a sly smile, sliding into their huddle, slipping her arm across Ryan's shoulders in a very familiar manner.

It was as if she had given him a violent electric shock; Ryan – already on edge from the unwanted attention – jumped violently at the unexpected contact, knocking Lilian's hand away with lightning-fast reflexes.

It was muffled instantly, but James was certain he caught a glimpse of a very hurt look flash across Lillian's features before the customary smile reinstated itself.

'So a team meeting is it?' she asked brightly. The smile remained stubbornly fixed, but James could sense a certain tightness around the corner of her eyes; she now stood an awkward distance away from Ryan, as if unsure of her position in the group.

'Not right now, Wood,' Ryan finally spoke. His voice was slow and measured. 'I need to see Potter, alone. You two bugger off a ways, give us some space.'

Two sets of openly hurt glares pierced the pair of them, but Ryan seemed oblivious as he grasped James firmly by the shoulder, directing him out into the Entrance Hall and down the steps into the cool morning air.

'I hate people sometimes,' Ryan muttered quietly to himself.

James remained silent, uncertain if he was meant to have heard.

'Renshaw pulled me aside this morning, Potter,' Ryan continued in his normal voice. 'Had words with me. Made sure _I'd_ have words with you. I'm guessing you know what it's about.'

James nodded mutely; a strange, cold-fingered hand was wrapping itself around his stomach.

'Right, good. I'm not here to tell you to do the right thing, or be a big brother or any of that. I'm not your teacher or your father, but I am your captain.

'If you want to run around and be an adventurer like your father was, then that is fine. If you want to break the rules and save the world and do whatever it was that you did at the end of last year, then that's fine too.

'I can't stop you from doing any of that, but what I will say is this. This isn't the same Hogwarts that your father went to; it's not even the same Hogwarts that you went to last year. Renshaw has _rules_ , Potter. Playing Quidditch under her is a privilege, not a right. You have to earn it. You have to study hard. You fail classes, you don't play. You have to _behave yourself._ You get a classmate seriously injured trying stupid magic after hours, you don't play. Am I making myself clear, Potter?'

James had frozen upon that second-last sentence, standing up to his ankles in a small, muddy puddle, water beginning to seep in through his trainers. He nodded again, that cloying, frozen hand now somehow constricting his throat.

'Good. Merlin knows, Potter, you've got talent. You've got promise like I haven't seen in a long time, since Wood herself walked in the doors, I'd say. When it comes to Quidditch, you've got one hell of a head on your shoulders, lad. Just make sure you use it the rest of the time, as well.'

James nodded again, feeling a little stupid now, like one of those ridiculous Muggle bobble-headed dogs that Uncle Ron liked so much.

'I- I'm sorry,' he stammered, finally squelching his way out of the puddle as the warmth of Ryan's genuine praise began to thaw him somewhat. 'Won't happen again.'

'See that it doesn't,' Ryan said, not unkindly, before clapping him on the back once more. 'C'mon Potter, look alive. Good chance you get to play today, we've got some Badgers to trounce.'


	9. Chapter 9 - Swimming

_A/N: So I stupidly named the previous chapter 'RIP' in memorium of my laptop which died and lost all of my story. No actual characters died in that chapter, as I've had one or two questions about that, heh._

* * *

' _GO, GO GRYFFINDOR! GO, GO GRYFFINDOR!'_

James added his own voice to the furore, standing up in his seat now with the rest of the reserves. There was a touch of desperation creeping in to the chant from the red-and-gold clad spectators, as their voices began to become swallowed up by those in yellow and black.

What had initially started as a slow, quiet dirge, little more than an aberration in the Lions' chanting was now growing, blossoming to a frantic fever pitch, every yellow-clad supported on their feet belting out the opposing chant, spurring their champions onward.

And by Helga, were they responding.

What was supposed to have been a walk-over game for Gryffindor was fast becoming one of the most enthralling matches in recent history. It was as if the Hufflepuff game plan had simply been to stick on Gryffindor's coattails and not let go. Everywhere they Hydra went, they were pressed by their own personal yellow-robed figure. Every move that Diana made was mirrored. Archie and Will MacDougal were fast becoming flustered by the constant attention they were receiving from the opposition beaters.

Not only were the individuals giving the Lions no breathing room, but they were also doing it as a team. After the boys in red nipped out to a four goal lead, the 'Puffs dug their toes in, slowly, inch-by-inch, clawing themselves back. One fistful of red-and-gold robe at a time, they reeled Gryffindor in. And all the while the pitch of that haunting, eerie song of theirs continued to grow.

James could barely make out the Gryffindors' cheer as they were awarded a penalty shot after one of the Hufflepuff Chasers got a bit _too_ close and gave up a Blurting foul. This stretched the lead to one hundred and twenty to one hundred and sixty, in favour of Gryffindor. James could see Lillian and Ryan both giving frantic orders down on the pitch, their voices swallowed up in the oppressing roar from the Hufflepuff stands.

Two more goals to the Lions thanks to some individual magic from Ryan O'Flaherty stretched the lead to six goals; the largest the game had seen. Still the Hufflepuffs chanted.

By this stage James, along with the rest of the reserve bench were just blindly yelling, their voices snatched away from their lips before they could even reach their own ears.

A Hufflepuff Chaser missed a shot at open goal, and then a second attempt was thwarted by some stellar defence by Connor Flint, body checking his opposition flawlessly. The crowd sensed that Gryffindor had wrested back that flighty temptress that was momentum, as Lillian Wood fed Ryan O'Flaherty the Quaffle in open space, only the Keeper to beat.

All of a sudden the Hufflepuffs chanting lost all cohesion, and a swarm of arms pointed up to the sky. For the first time in the game, a thousand voices were united as one in a primal, frantic cheer as both Seekers were locked in a neck-and-neck dive towards the flittering, shimmering Snitch, which hovered just below the balustrade, right in front of where James was sitting.

James partook in the wild screaming, willing Diana onwards. She was caught up arm-in-arm with the Hufflepuff Seeker, both girls a tangle of flailing elbows and wild hair.

'Look out!' cried someone from the stands behind them, the majority of the crowd turned to see the Hufflepuff Beater setting up for a shot aimed directly at Diana. From this distance it would be impossible to miss.

While everyone had their attention snagged, and in the most subtle manoeuvre possible, Diana dropped back half a length on the Hufflepuff Seeker just as the Bludger was let fly. She seemed to slip mid-air, her hand coming free of her broom handle. James gasped as he noticed her fingers covertly snarl a handful of her opposition's tail twigs and give a nasty yank.

The Bludger aimed for Diana zipped past her by the fur on a Niffler's backside and collided with the now-flailing Hufflepuff Seeker, whose broom reacted violently to being assaulted by Diana. Competition free, the vast majority of the stand none-the-wiser, Diana swooped down wearing a wicked grin to snare the Snitch without incident.

Game to Gryffindor.

'I'm telling you mate, I didn't see a _thing_ ,' Fred insisted for the umpteenth time.

It was later that evening, the party still in full swing around them. It was perhaps the sheer relief of winning such a tight game that had all of the students so eager to let their hair down. James turned away in disgust from a seventh-year student who was sat across Will MacDougal's lap doing something that he had only ever seen in stick-figure form on one of Tristan's diagrams.

'You must have,' hounded James. 'You were sitting right next to me. It was a blatant Blagging foul. There's no _way_ she should have caught the Snitch. It ought to have been a penalty to Hufflepuff.'

Fred scowled at James from where he sat; the pair were perched on opposite arms of a large, plush chintz armchair, glaring intently at one another.

'Even if you _did_ see something, you don't want to go around blurting it out. I'm pretty sure Renshaw would nullify the win, or something. You know how she is about rules.'

James sighed, defeated. His father had told him what it was like to have the entire school against him. If he went to Renshaw about this he'd certainly have the whole of Gryffindor house, and that would be bad enough. No longer feeling in the mood to party, James began to lead Fred in the trudge off up to the dormitories, but paused when he came across a group of large first-and-second-year students bearing down on a pair of smaller figures.

'-little losers are the only ones here trying to study. It's the weekend, celebrate. Trav has already nicked two Butterbeers, and Simon took a shot of Firewhiskey when Weasley wasn't looking.'

James shared a frown at Fred, searching the room for Victoire to break up the bullying. Seven against two weren't odds he wanted to trifle with.

'You're giving us all a bad name,' another one sneered, scuffing at what must have been one of the smaller student's books and eliciting a squeal of alarm. 'Gryffindor is the toughest house. You, of all people, should be up there partying. You're on the team after all, Potter.'

Something snapped inside of James as he realised just who the students were taunting.

'Al,' he hissed under his breath, immediately snatching at his wand.

Fred's grip on his forearm was the only thing that stopped him.

'Leave it, mate,' Fred hissed, keeping his voice down so as not to alert the group. 'There's too many of 'em. Remember what happened last time you tried to duel in here.'

James wasn't having it; he writhed and twisted in Fred's grip, snarling at the betrayal.

'I'll go get the Cloak, we can take them. That's Al and Rose down there Fred, what the hell is wrong with you?'

'What's wrong with _you?_ ' Fred shot back. 'You heard what Ryan said. One more step out of line and you're off the team. For good. Look, Victoire is over there. She can deal with it.'

He waved her over as he spoke, but by now the antagonists were disbanding, leaving a dishevelled Albus and Rose in their wakes. Al seemed relatively unfazed by the whole affair, but even as they watched Rose stood up and took off to the girls' dormitory, tears streaking down her face.

James felt his blood boiling, trying desperately to remember the faces of all those who had been present. Fred ushered him away, whispering frantically, and eventually that scowl turned into a very evil smile.

Unbeknownst to the two boys, Preston Lycnh pushed himself up from where he had been slouching in an armchair, well within earshot of their entire conversation. He had a grin on his face as if all of his Christmases had come at once.

Throughout the week that followed, Chaos stalked the halls of Hogwarts, with a particular penchant for the first-year students. It seemed that there was some sort of virulent virus circulating among them, causing a vast array of unsightly symptoms from chronic vomiting, incessant fainting, angry, stubborn boils, and, for a select few ill-fated individuals, persistent pants-wetting. Mercifully, this plague seemed to avoid James, his friends, Al and Rose despite the fact that Gryffindor first-years seemed to be the hardest hit of the lot.

And so James found himself in the company of _most_ of the second-year Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students, traipsing out across the muddy, slippery school grounds down towards the Black Lake one afternoon for an outdoor session of the new class: Magic of Hogwarts.

He shot sidelong glances at a few of their number who were looking a touch queasy, but sadly Preston Lynch was hale and hearty, not so much as crossing his legs in need of the bathroom.

The clouds sat fat and heavy in the sky above them, a low and ominous ceiling giving the evening a close, almost claustrophobic feeling. The air was still and limp, though in spite of this the surface of the Lake swirled menacingly before them, tiny white caps whipped up out of nothingness, reaching for the sky before dying a swift, pitiful death swallowed up without a whimper.

Rain had returned from Renshaw's office earlier in the week, and strode arm-in-arm with James, using his strength for support as she would occasionally slip on the unforgiving surface. She still looked a little peaky, her eyes drawn tight, her skin pale. She had on an even thicker scarf than usual, wrapped firmly about her lower face, obscuring all but her eyes.

The group halted in a small clearing a little ways into the Forbidden Forest, and right on the lakeshore. They milled around uncertainly for a while, their collective breath furling and rising lazily above them, the ground below their feet slowly turning into a muddy, slushy mess. Even Rain screwed up her nose as her once-impeccable and very costly-looking boots slowly became ruined.

'Hello you lot!' a voice boomed from within the trees, causing more than a few students to start in fright. One Ravenclaw girl fainted on the spot; from fright or the sickness James couldn't tell.

'Hagrid!' he yelled, running up to greet the half-giant gamekeeper. 'What are you doing here?'

'Got a bit of a surprise for yer,' Hagrid rumbled happily, clapping an enormous hand on James' back, causing him to drop to one knee in the mud.

'Oops, mind yer step,' Hagrid chuckled.

'Good evening students,' came a second voice, this one much softer, and musical. Despite the fact that she spoke so quietly, the entire clearing ceased fidgeting, all heard her words as if they were spoken directly into their own respective ears.

'Good Evening Professor Trellsen,' they chorused back.

Professor Lorelei Trellsen smiled warmly back out at them. She was a middle aged witch, with a full, round face and large, blinking brown eyes, magnified by her dark-rimmed spectacles. Short of stature, she nonetheless stood proudly, as if making up in posture for every inch she lacked in real height.

'Merfolk,' she said, almost lazily. Despite her relaxed façade and dreamy stares, she was seldom one to mince words. 'The mysterious guardians of the deep. Who can give us a little introduction to these enigmatic beings?'

Cassie's hand was already in the air.

'Originally from Greece-'

'-and related to the ancient Sirens of myth,' Cat interjected, surprisingly equally as eager to answer.

James tried to smother a smile as Cassie flashed a withering glare up at Cat. He thought it might be nice to see someone else get the Dragon Book treatment for a change.

'Merfolk are now found throughout the world; they are a sentient species, who, under the Magical Species Classification Act of 1459 qualify for full 'being' status-'

'-yet have turned down two formal offers to uphold that status due to long-forgotten feuds with the Vampire clans of northern Transylvania, and the fact that it's a secret plot by the Ministry to tax them of their sacred artefacts-'

'Their intelligence is evidenced by their thriving culture and complex societal structure,' Cassie continued. James was currently stood behind her, but he could practically hear the eye-rolling in her tone.

'Yes, yes, very good girls,' Professor Trellsen interjected kindly. 'Five points to both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. You've actually stepped right on to the issue that we are here to discuss today. Now, as the girls helpfully just mentioned, Merfolk are a sentient species; they possess human or, at the very least, near-human intelligence.

'Because of this, they, along with humans, centaurs, vampires, hags and a few others, are obliged to take up what is referred to by the Ministry as 'being' status. All who hold this status are afforded rights equal or near-equal to those of humans. For example, a Vampire, unpleasant as he may be, may walk into the Leaky Cauldron and order a flagon of Firewhiskey, he may purchase a house, he may vote but a Krup, a Mooncalf or a Hinkypunk most certainly may not, even if they somehow possessed the ability to communicate their desires.

'Do you follow me so far?'

The class mostly nodded. James was unsure how this all came under the 'Magic of Hogwarts', but he held his tongue.

'Excellent! Now, as these lovely young ladies have mentioned, the Merfolk have twice refused the offer of 'being' status. They have longstanding feuds with several Vampire and Hag factions, and so see the offer of identical status as an insult. Unfortunately, the Ministry is not willing to offer them any alternative, and so twice they have come to an impasse. As it happens, the Ministry is seeking to put this proposal forward once more, around Christmas time, in fact.

'You may all be wondering how this relates to you. I bet many of you did not know that the Black Lake is home to one of only three registered Merfolk Cities in all of Britain, and we have the fourth-largest Merfolk population here in all of Europe. As such, we have a most thrilling opportunity presented to us at this critical and exciting juncture. In groups of no more than six, in a project lasting the entirety of the school year, I want each of you to study the Merfolk, talk with them, research their history, their lore, their customs and culture, and at the end of the school year, instead of an exam you will each present to me your case on whether the Merfolk should or should not accept this offer from the Ministry.

'Your reports will be reviewed by Ministry officials, and may have a very real impact on their policy moving forward. You will be expected to-'

Professor Trellsen's voice began to become drowned out by the growing rustle and buzz of chatter among the students; equal parts excited and confused. Talking to Merfolk? How exactly did they expect them to do _that?_ _Ministry_ officials? That particular piece of information was met with no small amount of trepidation.

Slowly, haltingly, order restored itself and the students split themselves up into groups. Naturally, James stuck with Fred, Clip, Cat Cassie and Rain. But Professor Trellsen had one final Bludger to send their way.

'Now, who wants to meet one?'

As one, the entire class took a sizeable step backwards. All, that was, except for James Sirius Potter, who had been caught wondering what was to be on the menu for supper that night. He swallowed nervously, looking back at Freddy in sheer betrayal.

'Knew you had it in yer, James!' Hagrid boomed from where he had been leaning up against a colossal fir tree.

James smiled weakly, flinching as the half-giant broke off a branch thicker around than most of the students, tossing it carelessly into the water.

'What the-'

'EEEEEEEEEAAAARRRRRKKLIIIIEEEENNNSSHHEEEEEOOOOIIIIIN!'

James clapped his hands to his ears, appalled. Several of his classmates cried out in fright; the poor Ravenclaw girl keeled over again, out like a light.

'Bloody hell,' Fred eloquently summed up the situation.

'Been workin' on me Mermish,' Hagrid beamed down at James, absolutely chuffed with himself. 'Sirius don't like it too much, but I'm getting' real good.'

All James could hope to offer in return was a wavy smile and an unconvincing thumbs-up.

Seventy-odd students gasped unanimously as the water of the lake, a few yards off shore began to bubble and broil. The murky depths churned, silt-laden water chucked about haphazardly, as if it sat above a fire. Slowly a pair of shapes began to coalesce beneath the surface, shifting shadows melded, drawn in to form two solid shapes. Suddenly, the surface of the water fell dead quiet, a breath held.

Two heads breached the surface of the momentarily placid lake. Water cascaded down in runnels through identical tangled mats of grey-green, almost seaweed-like hair. Faces – alarmingly human – stared back at the students. Small ridges meandered up from jawline to brow, adorned with scale-like protrusions, glinting and winking multifaceted light from the steely grey sky. It was the eyes that really shocked James, much larger than a humans, almost twice the size, with a deep, rich golden-yellow iris and large black pupils. They blinked slowly, taking in the scene before them, identical scowls twisting their slashes of mouths into fanged snarls.

They bobbed calmly on the surface of the water, their bare, half-human torsos exposed to the chilly winds, unflinching. Their gaze was stoic, drifting casually between Hagrid and Professor Trellsen, clearly dismissing the group of students as beneath their lofty regard. A pair of long tubes appeared to be strapped to both of their backs. Cassie sidled up to him, gesturing frantically.

'James, those are Lobalugs,' she hissed, a death-grip on his forearm. 'They're _highly_ venomous, Merfolk use them as weapons. Don't whatever you do let that venom touch your skin, ok?'

James felt his stomach sinking, as if he'd already been thrown into the Lake strapped to a rock. He nodded, a little queasily.

'Promise me you won't do anything stupid,' Cassie insisted.

'I promise Cassandra,' James groaned.

She let out a little squeak at him actually using her proper name, even going so far as to give him a hug.

'Wear this, Mister Potter,' Professor Trellsen suggested, proffering what looked like a large, woollen poncho, easily long enough to cover him head-to-toe.

'Erm…' James looked up at her uncertainly, she merely blinked owlishly back, shaking the item of clothing in her hand impatiently.

James threw it over himself, poking his head gracelessly through to see a few of his classmates giving not-very-assuring smiles. Fred offered a second thumbs-up. Rain's scarf was becoming tangled on the scratchy fabric, and he made to peel it off, but she appeared instantly by his side, clutching his hand in a cold, steely grip.

'Keep it on, James,' she insisted, her voice low. 'Whatever you do, keep. It. On.'

James looked at her wide-eyed, as she grabbed the scarf, pulling it up above his mouth and nose, much like her own currently was. Her fingers suddenly burned hot to the touch, and he flinched back involuntarily. She hissed, jerking his face back to within an inch of her own. James started as he noticed her lips moving frantically, a flickering of fear reflected in her sea-green eyes.

She finally pushed back, running her hand down his arm, as if not willing to let him go. Hagrid let him firmly over to the water's edge, tiny waves lapping playfully at his toes. Twin stoic watchmen regarding him in stony silence.

'Your essay on the Social customs of the Merfolk was most exemplary, Mister Potter,' Professor Trellsen beamed at him. 'Only Miss Lovegood and Miss Featherstone scored higher. As such, I'm confident you are well equipped for this situation. Just pop down and say hello for now, no need to linger. The coat should keep you safe. Purely woven from the fibre of Poseidon's Vine, I'm sure you've heard of it.'

James racked his brain, the name seemed familiar. Before he could dally too long, he felt himself lifted bodily up off the stony ground. He screamed and squawked frantically, much to the class' delight, before Hagrid wound up and tossed him a full thirty feet out into the water. His arms windmilled as the sky and lake danced back and forth before him.

He landed with a crash, icy water instantly enveloping him, punching the air clean from his lungs. He screamed again as the water washed over his head, shutting out the dreary grey sky, replacing it with inky blackness. He screamed and screamed until his lungs were burnt out, his throat raw. He flailed madly for a moment before he was hit by a staggering realisation.

He wasn't even _wet._

He looked down at his hands, holding them up in front of his face in the swirling, oppressive darkness. There was a thin film, a bubble of air surrounding him, encapsulating his entire body, about an inch from his skin. He laughed – and didn't inhale water. He waved his arms madly about before him, still unable to get them wet. He saw the weird, scratchy poncho pulsating softly with a blue-green hue, and it suddenly hit him where he had seen it before.

Posiedon's _Garden._ Herbology club, after the Snargaluff debacle with Holly, they had been examining all the plants in the Greenhouse and Professor Longbottom had pointed this one out especially. Had he… known? Impossible, surely. Wasn't it?

James jerked in fright, flailing about in a vain attempt to jettison himself backwards as a hulking, scowling face appeared immediately before his own.

Beneath the water, the Merman looked much more natural a figure, as if that is what someone _ought_ to look like under the waves. James looked down at his own ungainly hands and feet, feeling suddenly out of place. A long, sleek, steel-grey tail lazily cut back and forth through the water, causing tiny swirls and eddies in the silt-laden depths. Hair that had been a tangle of snarled seaweed was now long and lustrous, fanning out about his head in a muted green flare, writhing on the current as if it were alive. Those big, wide orbs that were his eyes narrowed viciously, and James tried to swim backwards.

'Off,' he growled, mimicking James taking off the scarf.

James was so terrified of the figure, the fact that he understood perfectly ceased to raise so much as a question in his mind. He made to oblige – who was he to argue with this creature – but froze with his fingers hooked beneath the warm silk, recalling Rain's words as clear as if she were screaming them in his ear. Mustering all the courage he possessed, and swearing every oath known to man to take revenge on Hagrid for this, James shook his head.

'On.'

A brief moment of satisfaction for James as shock flitted across the creature's face, before the scowl returned with interest. One hand hovered near the stem of the Lobalug he wore as a weapon, and James' heart rate began to shoot up. The second figure swam over, slicing through the water as if it offered no resistance. Once again James felt his own body was inadequate, well and truly out of his depth.

The second figure wasted no time, drawing his weapon, pointing the tube directly at James' face, one hand hovering on the pulsing, venomous sac at the far end.

'Off, human,' grunted the first Merman. His tone told James that he wasn't going to be offered a second shot at insubordination.

But something deep within him was resisting his urge to obey. Some primal sense of self-preservation was rearing its head, overriding his actions. In a wave of panic he felt himself, instead of reaching up to take off the scarf, darting for his wand.

Before he could even blink, he felt something rock hard connect with his temple, sending dizzying showers of sparks cascading across his vision violently. A jet of inky blackness cut through the muddy water, jetting right towards him. In his dazed state he couldn't seem to get his arms and legs to so much as raise in defence, and the Lobalug venom hit him square in the face, right where his mouth was tucked in behind the scarf.

He went from being unable to feel his extremities, to _wishing_ he couldn't feel them in an instant, as molten fire began to race through his veins, radiating out from his throat and chest, coursing through his system as if his very own heart was pumping it as blood, betraying his failing body. Darkness began to creep in, tunnelling his vision, blurring shapes and colours, melding them into one murky, muddy mess. He was vaguely aware of the venom coursing around in his air sac created by the Poseidon's Garden plant, the more he jerked and writhed in pain, the more the venom washed over his body, painting him in colours of carmine agony.

Out of the darkness he heard a third voice, more feminine, certainly more commanding. It cut through the fugue that was enveloping him, hissing and grating, righteous in its assured fury.

'Charal, you sea-slug! What have you done? You've killed it! This was to be a gift to me, _me!_ We were to converse!'

A figure appeared before James, gripping him firmly, steadying his jerking limbs, whispering in a soft, soothing voice that sounded as the waves on the sea shore, slowly lapping away at his pain, undercutting the agony that so desperately embraced him.

'See who it is! You stagnant fool! This is the spawn of Harry Potter. Father described his likeness to me. What have you done?! You may well have killed us all.'

'See what he carried,' grunted the Merman who must have been Charal. 'That magic, that _taint._ It is _them._ They are coming. You know, your treasured _father_ knows, and still he does nothing. Now a human comes, bearing _their_ mark, _their_ sickly, cloying magic and you wish to embrace him? It is too late; I am glad he is dead.'

James certainly didn't _feel_ dead. He twitched once more in the grip of his saviour – his saviour? Perhaps. She hissed vehemently at the two Mermen, gesturing sharply with one hand. Blurry, hazy edges began to pick out her figure as James' vision slowly crept back to him. Long, pale green-grey hair framing a very feminine face, too streamlined, too angular and narrow to be entirely human. Teeth bared in what must have been a smile, a row of tiny, needle-like fangs glinted out at him. Hundreds of shell necklaces were her only clothing, hanging from her neck, doing little to conceal her modesty. A single word floated to the surface, drawn forth to the forefront of his consciousness.

'Kjalsettr.'

He saw a moment of shock paint her features, which subsequently softened into a warm smile. Before she could open her mouth, James heard a snarl from somewhere behind him and something punched him _hard_ in the small of the back. He gasped, his lungs unable to function as total blackness unfurled her midnight wings and swooped down upon him.


	10. Chapter 10 - Tia

It was the sounds that came back to him first. The crackling of a distant torch, playing a lone solo into the abyss of James' consciousness. He focused on that single sound, willing it to draw him back to the surface. He strained, willing himself to pursue it, to chase it until that sound enshrouded him, reverberating around in his skull, roaring to a raging bonfire, searing away all other thought, burning him, cleansing him.

Faces, blurred. Worry, in their stance and in their words. Words too indistinct to make out more than the tone. Hands, gripping him, forcing him down. Something pressed to his mouth. Teeth gnashed, he growled, forced it away, but his strength was as nothing and soon he was overcome. Warmth – not heat this time – something more pleasant. Sliding down his throat, blossoming outward from his chest, dragging him down, down, until he was so heavy that not even his eyes could open, and blackness reigned once more.

'Did you hear Alannis McClellan _kissed_ Emry Sameer last night behind the Greenhouse?'

'Argh, Fred for the _hundredth_ time can you please be _quiet!_ I'm trying to study.'

'Oh, such a shame that the first thing James hears is us arguing.'

James cracked open his eyes upon mention of his name to see Cat, who had just spoke, sitting by his bedside, his right hand cradled in her lap between both of her own. She smiled down brightly at him, those pale blue eyes brimming with emotion in the late night torchlight.

Silence ruled for a moment, but for the clack-clack-clack of a pair of knitting needles that Cat had charmed in mid-air before her. Oddly enough, there was no wool in sight.

'James!' Cassie yelled.

'Bloody hell,' Fred swore.

'Eep!' Holly squealed.

'Well I'll be,' muttered Tristan.

Clip gave an extra loud snore in the corner and jerked violently awake beneath a sharp jab in the ribs from Fred.

James tried to lift his free hand to wave, but found it wrapped in stiff bandages. In fact, his entire body, save for the hand that Cat held was enshrouded, layer upon layer of stiff, white gauze, preventing any sudden or dramatic movements. A wave of embarrassment threatened to sink him for a moment as he suddenly wondered how he had been going to the bathroom. He paused.

'How long have I been here?' he croaked.

Cassie and Holly, already beside themselves, could resist no longer, throwing themselves atop his supine form with sobs of – what he hoped were – joy.

'Two days, mate,' Fred offered. James could see him through a tiny part in Holly's midnight hair. 'It's Friday night now. You went down on Wednesday evening.'

'Urf,' James nodded in recognition.

The two girls seemed rather reluctant to let go, and the wind was slowly being forced from his tender chest.

'What do you _think_ you are doing?' screeched an irate Madam Petheridge, bustling over red-faced, her arms laden with all manner of salves, herbs and poultices.

She shooed the sheepish girls away as one would a pair of annoying flies. Cat fumbled momentarily in mid-air beneath her needles, passing whatever was – or wasn't – there to the Matron, who accepted it graciously.

'Fine work, Miss Lovegood.'

Cat beamed.

'Now, Mister Potter, it appears that _someone_ is looking out for you. You've been exposed to enough Lobalug venom to kill three adult males. But for the interference of some, frankly archaic, magic, you very likely would have perished. What were they thinking, tossing a child into the Lake like that? To converse with Merfolk, of all things! Phaw, just you wait till Tia hears about this.'

'Er… Tia?' James asked, confused. He didn't want to think about how close he might have come to dying back there.

'Galatea – Headmistress Renshaw to you lot. Open up.'

James obeyed, propping himself up on the pillows to swallow some cloying, sickly sweet concoction that made him a touch lightheaded. He had managed half a spoonful when the doors crashed open, causing Madam Petheridge to spill the remainder down his chin, where it was remarkably cold to the touch.

'Is he here?' boomed an achingly familiar voice. James felt his face splitting into a broad grin, cracking the blistered skin on his cheeks painfully.

'Mister Hagrid, _please!_ I must ask that you keep your voice down! I really am bending the rules already, allowing so many visitors at once.'

'Ruddy hell, James!' Hagrid boomed, paying the poor, beleaguered Matron no heed at all. 'I thought we'd lost yer. All me fault, too. All me fault…'

He trailed off into great, heaving sobs, eventually snatching a nearby bedsheet clean off the bed and blowing his nose into it with the sound to rival the whistle on the Hogwarts Express.

'Professor _Hagrid-'_

'I got these for yer,' he sniffled, proffering out a half-giant sized handful of what looked like general shrubbery.

A cascade of dirt and leaves showered down in James' lap, followed by a bush that looked suspiciously like the one that usually squatted in the courtyard outside. The gift itself, the poorly concealed laughter from his friends, and the look on Madam Petheridges beet-red face was enough to send him into roaring fits of laughter, cracking blisters and damaging tender lungs, finally causing them all to be well-and-truly evicted until the Matron could 'make sense of this circus.'

A night of deep sleep, crowded with chaotic dreams of vivid colour and bright expression, abstract in their entirety, haunted his night-time. They gripped him fiercely, refusing him the surrender of wakefulness.

He woke alone, and the cold streaks of tears burned icy on his cheeks,

His friends visited, but not for long. Holly, in particular, was eager to spectate the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw match that was taking place that morning. Speculation was rife around the school; had Slytherin's hapless Chasing trio pulled together enough to trouble the fast-growing Keeping legacy that was Aster Ogleby? Or was Odette's deadly precision going to end the game before the Chasers even began to play a part?

Rain was still absent – not that she had ever cared much for Quidditch – and Holly was having trouble getting a rise out of Cassie as James watched the group head out the door, laughing and joking. A pang of sadness rang out in his chest; Madam Petheridge had given him strict instruction that should he leave the bed before Monday at the very earliest she'd _really_ give him cause to be ill.

He _mostly_ didn't believe her.

James snoozed throughout the morning, occasionally hearing a stray cheer or boo from the distant Quidditch stands, drifting in through the cracked window on the wings of a coincident breeze. The sound of footsteps stirred him from his dazed slumber just before lunch, and he cracked open his eyes, expecting to see his friends returning.

'Odette?'

The Slytherin Quidditch captain was the last person in the school he expected to see. He told himself that she was the last person that he _wanted_ to see, except maybe Preston Lynch. Still, his smile didn't quite falter the way he thought it should have upon laying eyes upon her.

Truth be told, she was still somewhat of a mess following the game; an angry red scratch stretched beneath her left eye, right up into her hairline, a small cut on her lower lip was leaking blood slowly, causing her to wipe at it in exasperation every few seconds. No glittering heels today; merely a pair of faded grey flip-flops over her stockinged feet, flecks of mud spattered halfway up her calves. The neckline of her oversized Slytherin jumper looked stretched, hanging down off her left shoulder, baring an alarming amount of skin, and a pale green, lacy bra-strap that James had to force himself not to look at.

A far cry from what he was used to seeing from the prissy upstart.

As she got closer, however, and his eyes began to focus, James noticed details a little more clearly. Like the way her trademark ashy blonde hair was tied up in a loose ponytail. A few wispy strands hung down to caress her jawline, framing her face and shining ethereal as they caught the midday sun streaming in through the window.

James realised he had been staring, and quickly tore his eyes away at the same time Odette cast her own down sheepishly.

'Who brought you the bush?' she asked, her voice devoid of the usual self-assuredness.

'Oh, erm, Hagrid.' James pushed himself up to a seated position, wincing slightly as burns from the Venom cracked and split at the slightest movement.

'Are you alright?' Odette asked, genuine concern tingeing her voice. She froze with an arm half reached out towards him, suddenly uncertain of what, if anything, she could do to help.

'Yea, fine,' James winced, finding the least painful position. 'What are you here for, anyway? Come to gloat about winning the match today? We're still ahead of you on the table.'

'No,' she said, sounding a little put out. 'But we did win. Just. Three goals was all we scored; we were down by a hundred and thirty-'

'When you swooped in and caught the Snitch to save the day? What a hero you are, Odette, really. I'd clap for you now if it wouldn't cause me so much pain.' James couldn't keep the sarcastic derision out of his voice, even has he saw the hurt growing on Odette's face.

He wasn't in the mood to talk Quidditch, not when he was stuck in here and they were all out there playing, having fun. Least of all was he interested in listening to Odette, of all people, gloat about her success.

'I'll just go then,' she murmured, scrubbing angrily at her lip with the back of her hand, leaving a long, red smear across her milky skin. 'I got this for you, anyway.'

She pulled something out from behind her ear – a flower. James frowned; had she been wearing it the whole time? Or was the act itself one of magic? She gently set it down beneath Hagrid's shrub, near where she had been standing at his bedside, turning to leave.

A single apple blossom, snowy white against the dark, stained wood. It caught a ray of sunlight, dewdrops glimmered bright and pure in the midday sun, so perfect and innocent. Merlin only knew where she had managed to find one at this time of year.

'Odette, wait-' James found himself calling out. She froze, now at the far end of his bed. James gestured to a spot next to him, where Cat usually sat and held his hand – _not_ that he'd left Odette do that, obviously. The very thought…

'I'm sorry,' she all-but whispered. 'I should have known. I'd hate to be cooped up in here, told what I can and can't do each day. No walking about, no visitors, no Quidditch. Everyone always obsesses about what you _can't_ do, no one likes to ask about what you _can._ '

'It sucks,' James grudgingly agreed. 'I just want to get _out_ of here, back to normal. I want everyone to stop treating me like I'm made of glass. I want to get back to lessons, walk down by the Lake, but mostly I want to get back to Quidditch. I hate missing training. To be honest, I though Ryan would have come by at some stage.'

Odette froze, the colour draining from her face. She cast her eyes downwards, tracing a pattern on James' bed idly with one delicate finger. A single drop of blood fell from her lip, staining the sheets in brilliant carmine.

'James, he- he is. He will. We had a captains meeting last night, like we do before all the matches.'

Her nervous pause was beginning to worry James; a strange, cold feeling was coursing through him, emanating from somewhere in the pit of his stomach.

'James, you're currently too injured to play, and Madam Petheridge doesn't want to give you the all-clear to return for the next game just yet. So Ryan… Ryan has had to promote somebody while you are out. He's… Oh, James he's promoted Preston Lynch.'

All of the heat drained from the room, taking with it the colour. Torches burned but gave no heat, no light. Rich, ochre walls, adorned with tapestries were mere slashes of grey-on-grey. Odette's pale face, silvery hair, colourless irises, all of it had lost its lustre. Even her flower now sat ashen and lifeless atop his bedside table.

'So this… _this_ is what you came to tell me?' James' voice sounded hollow, even to his own ears. Just like the scene before him, it lacked inflection, rhythm, _life._

Odette swallowed nervously, she was chewing on her lower lip, aggravating the cut and causing the blood to flow more freely. It trickled down her chin now in a muted ruddy track, unheeded.

'No- I mean yes- I mean, I wanted to-'

'To see how I'd react? To have a bit of a laugh? To poke a bit of fun at me while I'm down?'

He had gone from cold to hot now, blood thundering in his ears, heart racing in his throat. He wanted to get up, he needed to move. He tried to throw back the covers, but damned Odette was sitting on them, and even that small act sent streamers of pain flowing up his arms.

'James, you can't-'

'Oh, so now _you_ are going to tell me what I can't do, as well? The whole flower, the nice girl act was just another little game of yours, wasn't it? Well are you happy, now? Does this make you happy?'

The anger was flowing through James unabated now. He heard footsteps from within the Hospital Wing, in the direction of Madam Petheridge's office, but paid them no heed. He lashed out an arm, scudding Odette's flower across the table and onto the floor, petals strewn about, the stem snapped. Tears beaded at the corner of his eyes – he told himself it was from the pain. He ignored Odette's tiny gasp of shock as he did so.

'James, please-'

'Just go, okay? You've had your fun. Go and laugh amongst your friends about it. Tell them you made James Potter cry, if you want. I don't even care, I don't care about them, or you, or Lynch, or anything!'

He was yelling now, and the approaching footsteps had quickened in pace. He heard an indistinct voice call out his name.

'I'm fine,' he snapped, the shakiness in his voice betraying the sentiment.

' _Listen to me, James Potter!'_ Odette's voice cracked through his fiery haze of anger like a whip, despite her not having shouted in the least. 'I wanted to tell you now, before Ryan gets here. So it's not a surprise. So you can let it out now, here, with _me._

'I know Ryan, at least well enough to know that he won't stand for any of this, you making a scene, getting upset. He'll just keep Lynch on the team without a second thought. Anything that gets in the way of his championship run will be pruned. This, this _emotion,_ these feuds the two of you share, that is _exactly_ the sort of thing that could stop him winning a championship. He likes you James, he speaks highly of you to all of us, but if you're not mature enough to take this like a team player then there's nothing any of us can do to get you back on the team, I'm sorry.'

Her monologue had cut clean through James' anger, sucking the wind from his sails and leaving him floundering, rudderless. He cast his gaze around, as if looking for something else to fix is fury on, but found no worthy cause. Words kept replaying over in his head, _making a scene,_ or _not mature enough._ He wanted to lash back out at Odette, but something rational within him reigned him in. He blinked furiously, trying to clear the tears from his vision.

Instinctively, he reached out for a tissue from his bedside, holding it out to her; the frantic talking and lip-chewing had opened the cut right up, currently stemmed only by the collar of Odette's Slytherin jersey, the muddy red stain slowly growing.

James gasped as, instead of taking the tissue, Odette reached out, holding his own hand – and the tissue within it – to her bleeding lip. He froze, shocked, his arm extended awkwardly, pain creeping in to tender muscles. She looked at him, her eyes fierce, and perhaps a little watery, as she held his hand and the seconds stretched on in silence.

'Why, Miss Mansfield, what do we have here?'

A smooth, silken voice whispered into the space between them, shattering the tense, terse bonds that had been forming.

'Head- Headmistress,' Odette stammered, dropping James' hand like a stone and shooting upright, delivering an awkward half-curtsey.

'Not to worry, Tilly, I'll take it from here.'

James looked over to see an equally confused Madam Petheridge, her mouth agape, a single finger in the air as if to begin one of her infamous dressing-downs. She turned and scurried off, muttering rapidly beneath her breath.

Where in Merlin's name _had_ Headmistress Renshaw come from?

'You must think very fondly of Mister Potter, indeed, Miss Mansfield. Coming here instead of your customary post-match warm-downs. Most devoted.'

Odette blushed furiously, taking an involuntary step backwards. James' eyes bulged at the implication. Galatea Renshaw curved the corner of one midnight-purple lip upwards into a cruel smile.

That seemed to be the icing on the proverbial cake, as Odette turned and fled wholly, looking back only once as she passed through the great oaken doors, embarrassment writ so plainly across her face.

'Now Mister Potter, I have you all to myself,' Renshaw made to assume Odette's vacated seat, next to James on the bed, casually flicking her wrist to Vanish the blood. 'It truly is most fascinating, once you know someone's deepest desires, how easily you can exploit their most guarded insecurities.

'What _are_ Odette's deepest desires?' James asked before thinking.

'Ah, Mister Potter, I fear that the fact that you must ask that question means that you are not yet ready to know.'

He was getting sick and tired of hearing _that_ explanation.

'And besides, who am I to stand before such things? I have learned my lesson, worry not about that.'

It was fast becoming the norm for these conversations with Headmistress Renshaw to leave James far more confused than before they had spoken. This one appeared to be starting out in much the same manner.

'But never mind about that, what I am really here to talk about is what happened to you down in that lake on Wednesday, and just why it is that you keep finding yourself in so much trouble.'

James had to stop himself from groaning aloud in exasperation, was he to get no rest at all?

The next hour and a half was spent exhaustively answering myriad questions from a persistent Headmistress; questions about what he said, what he did, what he looked at, what he wore, right down to the way Hagrid had tossed him in the lake. His return questions were batted away with less-than-satisfactory answers; yes she had spoken with the Merfolk; no, the two that attacked him wouldn't be any more trouble; yes, it was safe to return and continue with their project; no, there was no need for additional safety measures going forwards.

By the end of it James felt drained and lethargic, and was glad when she finally stood up gracefully to leave, sweeping a hand through her free-flowing, raven hair.

'I shall see you in a weeks' time, Mister Potter. I am forced to travel, unfortunately. As you can imagine, this has created quite the political uproar, all things considered.'

James just nodded dumbly, glad to finally be free. His eyes were already beginning to close as the Headmistress swept from the room, pausing only to speak briefly to Madam Petheridge.

'… leave it in my office, if you would, Tilly. I shall examine it upon my return. _Most_ intriguing, by the sounds of it. A _scarf_ , of all things. Farewell.'

James was asleep before she had even left the room.

The following Monday James was released, with little more than a stiffness in the muscles as a mark of the whole, harrowing ordeal. He was just glad it was all behind him now, hoping to get back to normal as quickly as possible. That week saw the last of October – and the welcoming of November celebrated with another fearsome storm rolling in across the lake, lashing the waves and the castle alike with sheets of driving, blinding rain.

Ryan had indeed been impressed with James' level-headed acceptance of his removal from the team; clapping him warmly on the shoulder (and sending a searing pain all down his left side) and informing him that he couldn't wait to get him back out there, to the point where he leaned down to whisper in James' ear that he 'also couldn't wait to get that Preston git out of there.'

Sadly, however, despite the fact that James was now out of the Hospital Wing, Madam Petheridge had made it abundantly clear that he would not be back to playing Quidditch until she was one hundred percent happy with his state.

Rain had remained curiously absent from his life, though he was beginning to become accustomed to that; she merely wandered in and out as she saw fit, revealing a mysterious secret here, potentially saving his life there. Everywhere she went, the shadow of whispers ever followed. She had begun to build it into a Cloak now, revelling in its presence, taking from it protection rather than harm, wrapping it about her to protect herself behind a shifting, smoky façade.

The following Wednesday, James was languishing in the common room, an entire plush couch all to himself. The roaring fire within was competing for supremacy with the howling wind without, and all the students were huddling tight into coats or blankets, trying to coax some life into stiffened, chilly limbs.

Together the Gryffindor Four were making a slow, wallowing effort at studying for an upcoming Transfiguration test. Not to be outdone by the rigorous new classes that Renshaw had introduced this year, Professor Plye seemed eager to vie for most-dreaded lesson of the week. He had been swamping them, almost gleefully, with more and more homework as the year progressed. James felt as if he had learned more in this first half of the year than he had his entire first year.

The most recent project involved the arduous process of Transfiguring a small army of wooden horses into identical, miniature dogs. They were to be graded on how consistent their pooches were, down to the finest little detail such as eye colour and coat lustre. So far James had yet to produce a dog without hooves. Though he supposed he was doing better than Clip, who had somehow managed to animate one of his subjects, and was now busy chasing it around the common room.

James leaned over to consult his textbook, flipping the page to find the section on wand movements. He frowned as a thick, creamy sheet of scented parchment slid out onto the sofa cushion.

Intrigued – and slow to learn about the dangers of opening mysterious notes – James slid his fingers beneath the seal and popped it open. He was immediately assaulted by a wafting scent of lavender and some sharp, sweet spice.

 _To: Students 769, 824, 742_

 _Potter, Wallace, Lovegood._

 _First floor, room 47B, 7:30 p.m. Wednesday 1 November_

 _Two doors down from the Come-and-Go room._

 _Mandatory,_

 _Enchantress_

The "E" on Enchantress was a massive, sprawling, cursive masterpiece. Even as James watched, midnight strands of ink lanced out across the page, twirling and interlocking like vines. They spread and spread, blacking out the soft, creamy parchment until all he held was a stiff, black sheet. A breeze, conjured from nowhere, gusted past him. He gasped as it did, for the sheet that he held was picked up and carried away as roiling purple-black smoke until there was no evidence of his ever having held anything at all.

'Er guys,' he exclaimed to the group, a nervous tension knotting itself in between his shoulders. 'I think it's time for Wren's Enchanting club.'

He wasn't even surprised when the three of them arrived at the aforementioned location to find Cassie and Rain already there.

'Did you get the letter?' Cassie asked, excitement flitting about the edges of her voice.

James nodded a little uncertainly, staring about the room, waiting for Wren to fade in out of some sliver of shadow. Five seats – apparently they were the only members to this most exclusive club – were arrayed facing the teachers' desk. The rest of the room was bare. One set of musty grey curtains stirred in a breeze which whined in through a shattered pane, causing the students to huddle in on themselves. James wished he had Rain's scarf.

'How _amazing_ was it?' Cassie continued, 'such subtle magic, so beautiful. Do you think she will teach us to do that? It seems like a lot to learn in a single year, but I _think_ I could manage it…'

'What a waste of a year that would be, Cassandra,' Rain drawled from where she sat, furthest from James. Her thick woollen scarf was bunched up beneath her chin. 'I should hope that someone who thinks as highly of themselves as this Wren does could teach us something a little more useful.'

'Well lucky for you, _witch_ , I think rather highly of myself, indeed.'

The door to their room slammed shut, and a radiant warmth immediately began to seep out of the previously frigid stonework, forcing James to shrug out of his bulky overcoat. Wren – The Enchantress – strode purposefully in, barely glancing at them, coming to a halt behind the teachers' desk, facing them all with a challenging glare.

The silence waxed eloquent for a minute, then two.

James tried to study Wren, without her noticing what he was doing. She was slight of build, taller than average for a girl her age, without being remarkably so. Dark of hair and eye, honey skin. She wore a long, black blouse that was nearly a dress and plain, black tights. Alone, none of these factors were remarkable.

What was it, then, that was so imperious, so indomitable, so _larger-than-life_ about her? The way she never blinked as her eyes drifted lazily across each of them, calculating, weighing, measuring, discarding. The way her posture never faltered; back ramrod straight, shoulders back, chin upright. The way she looked down her nose with those almond eyes as if she just _knew_ that she was better than you.

Whatever it was, it made James uneasy, a squirming sensation, an itch he couldn't scratch. Likely because he had stolen her most prized magical possession towards the end of last year and she probably wanted to skin him alive. So long as there were witnesses, however, he figured he would be safe. Probably.

'As it eventuates,' Wren began, her voice languid and bored. 'I have no choice in the matter of teaching the lot of you. Aunt Tia – _Headmistress_ Renshaw – has mandated this little club, and there appears to be nothing I can do to nullify that. Thus.'

Clip shot James a concerned glance. He replied with a mute shrug.

'So tell me, children. Do any of you actually know _anything_ about Enchanting?'

Cassie raised her hand uncertainly.

'Yes…'

'Cassandra.'

'Like I care.'

'Oh, erm well… Enchanting is a school of magic oft-confused with Charms, as both methods have an overtly similar end result: applying magical properties to a usually inanimate object in order to change its function or aesthetics. Charms achieve this by utilisation of the magical power of the individual casting the charm; the directed magical energy is applied to the object _through_ the caster, thus imposing a change in properties of the object. Enchanting, on the other hand-'

' _Yawn…_ If I had wanted the textbook thrown at me I'd have asked Madam Cresswell to do it. Anybody _else_ care to continue?'

Cassie looked crestfallen. Clip nervously cleared his throat.

'The mud- Muggleborn. Go on.'

'Clip, Clip Wallace. Er, well from what I understood in the book, when you Enchant something you do so without actively funnelling the magic through your own body. Like, every other form of magic uses the human body as a vessel; we funnel the energy from the Magical Flux through us to create a spell. With Enchanting, though, you work entirely apart from your own body. There is no vessel, so, in theory no limitations to the amount of magic you can work. I don't understand how that can be possible, though. It seems too _dangerous._ '

'Of course you don't understand,' Wren snapped. 'You're a twelve-year-old Muggleborn who can barely lift a feather and only gets by because you spend all of your worthless free time reading every book you can get your greasy little paws on. Twenty points from both your houses, by the way. I know for a fact that the only book that holds that information currently resides in the Restricted Section, so you've clearly broken the School Rules to get it. Be thankful I don't kick you out on the spot.'

'But-' Cassie started.

'I never-' Clip protested.

'Argue with me again and I'll transfigure your arse to your mouth and force-feed you a pound of laxatives, Mudblood. Am I understood?'

Clip nodded. Cassie nodded. James silently fumed.

'What the pair of you fumbled around at like a pair of blind dogs was, at least, close to fact. Close enough to get you killed, had you ever tried Enchanting, yourselves, might I add.

'The art of magic known as Enchanting is one many claim to be forgotten. That is a bare-faced lie. It is forgotten only in the way a repressed memory is forgotten. Writing on the subject has been forbidden for the greater part of a century. It has not been taught at Hogwarts in decades. The only place where it is actively practiced is within the Department of Mysteries. And likely behind the heavily Warded doors of many of the Old Blood.

'Why, then, does my darling Aunt see fit to teach such supposedly dangerous magic to a bunch of drooling twelve-year olds? I find myself asking the same question. It is a brave new world out there, she tells me. And what is decried here as dangerous magic, elsewhere is utilised to do great good. Behind me, of course, Aunt Tia hopes to nurture a bold new generation of witches and wizards who will push the frontiers of magic further than it has ever been pushed, to create, to build, to _advance._ We cannot do that if we cower in fear from ancient superstitions, hiding behind the skirts of greater Witches than ourselves, afraid to test the waters for fear of what getting wet might entail.

'And so, if my part in this legacy, this _Renaissance_ , is to begin with instructing children on how to wipe the snot from their chins, then so be it. For it _will_ be my name chiselled into that Marble Arch in years to come. They _will_ say "The Enchantress" with fear.'

James was feeling not a small amount of fear himself, right now. Judging by the expressions on his friends' faces, he wasn't alone. This side of Wren was scarier even than when she had found out about her missing map.

'And so. Enchanting is, indeed, a form of magic which forgoes the use of our bodies as filter to the power. This, as you guessed at, means that there is theoretically no limit to the power which we can wield. Humans are weak. Our bodies are weak. We can handle only a sliver of the amount of magic that we dream of. Some people can train their bodies to handle more; these men and women become powerful wizards and many bow at their feet. But these fools but stand on pedestals, while I will teach you how to walk among the stars.

'Enchanting is different in every aspect to any branch of magic you have learned thus far. You will have to unlearn what you already know, every time that you walk in that door if you wish to succeed in here. Your minds will have to be sharper, harder, and faster than any of your peers. You will have to have total control of the magic you craft each and every time you Work. What could happen should you take too much magic and pour it into any one Enchantment?'

The five of them blinked as one, collectively stunned by the abrupt presentation of a question.

'You'd damage the Flux,' Rain whispered, almost reverently.

'Correct, _witch._ Perhaps one of those brains inside that head of yours knows what it's doing.'

James saw the corner of one of Rains eyes twitch. Which was as good as a shocked gasp, for her.

'The Flux – the Magical Essence that is layered on, in and through everything on this planet, the very lifeblood of a witch or wizards magic – ever seeks redress. The magic of one human, even that of a thousand, here at Hogwarts, is as nothing to its flow. Each time a student draws from it to cast a spell, restructuring the Magical Energy and thus reordering the Flux, the magic flows back to take its place. Think of it like a river, or a stream. When you take some water away, more rushes to take the place of the material you just removed.'

'Like wind,' Clip muttered.

'Don't interrupt. But yes, in the same way as air moves around our planet as wind, so too does the Magical Flux flow in response to those who draw from it. Should a witch or wizard draw too much, and deplete the Flux in that area to such an extent, they will shatter the balance. The Flux will not be able to flow back sufficiently quickly to restore the balance. It will snap, tear, open a giant wound in the very fabric of magic itself, with consequences even I am too terrified to dwell on. That, children, is why we do not teach of Enchanting in schools.'

The five of them staggered out of that room an hour and a half later, their minds stuffy and buzzing. Wren had mostly talked at them for the remainder of the lesson; about rules and impossibilities, about what they must never try and why they were too stupid to do it anyway. Of actual, practical Enchanting, they learned nothing, and left with only the threat of swift retribution if they had not read the entire textbook list that she had ascribed to them by the next time they met.

'Does it scare you, James Potter?'

James jumped – in fright – as the voice appeared right next to his ear. He spun about to face Rain – a grave mistake – a wave of wooziness washed over him, forcing a steadying hand out to clutch at the stone wall for balance.

'I wish you'd stop doing that,' he growled through gritted teeth.

'Permit me my fantasies, if you will,' was all she said in response.

'I suppose it is a little scary, come to think about it.' The pair made their way back toward their respective common rooms together, hanging back a ways from the others, all of whom were eagerly chatting away in a tight huddle about this exciting new magic.

'Fear is good. From fear comes respect. From respect, understanding. I think you would make a fine Enchanter, one day.'

James just mumbled noncommittally. Rain pulled her dark coat tighter around the tartan jumper she wore. Her creamy, woollen scarf hung down, low about her chest. James caught a glimpse of gold in amongst the thick folds of cloth.

'Are you eyeing my scarf again, James Potter? I should think that one is enough, surely. I was rather fond of that one. But then, I am rather fond of you, so I must say it was worth the loss.'

'I liked it too, right up until Madam Petheridge confiscated it and handed it over to Renshaw. Something about examining what I was wearing when the Merfolk attacked.'

Rain froze on the spot. She had linked her arm through James' own, so this caused him to grind to a halt as well.

'She _what?'_

'She confiscated it. Gave it to Renshaw, who said she'll examine it once she's back from… wherever it is she left to. I can ask for it back after that, if you'd like?'

Rain's mouth worked silently for a moment. Her eyes darted up to the ceiling above them, then back to the floor. She disentangled herself from James. Chewed on a bright red-painted lip for a moment. Ran a hand through her hair. All these signs of nerves were setting James on edge.

'What is it?' he asked, worried.

Finally, she spun to James, gripping him on both upper arms, fiercely tight. There was a desperate, unguarded plea in her eyes that James had never seen before, and it frightened him far more than any of Wrens empty words.

'James, if Renshaw sees that scarf… I'm dead. Really dead. You're dead. Everything is _ruined._ '

He stared wide-eyed back at her. All this for a _scarf?_

'An entire lifetime…' she mumbled, evidently not for his ears. 'Again. I can't… Not again. Too much… Not strong enough.'

'If it means that much to you…' James began, squirming inside as he knew where this was going to end up.

'James, please. I beg of you. We have to steal that scarf. We _have_ to break into Renshaw's office.'


	11. Chapter 11 - Loony

Frightful rain hammered down atop the greenhouse roof, causing panes to rattle beneath the deluge. Moon and stars alike were blotted out by thick, heavy clouds and so the night wept tears unseen down the glass walls. Coupled with the steam from within James couldn't see more than a foot out into the turbulent darkness.

The students were beginning to grumble about the dreadful weather; week in, week out, storms were rolling in across the Black Lake, driving sleet and rain almost horizontally, crashing in vain against the bluff façade of the castle walls.

There was a strange taste of salt in the air, as if the howling winds were blowing fresh off the sea. Explanations that James had heard for this ranged from the provenance of the storm itself to the fact that the school was under attack from some form of mythical ocean beast, an ancient arch rival of the fearsome Giant Squid.

The students of Herbology club were reluctantly filing out into the deluge after another meeting, leaving the steamy warm confines of Greenhouse One to brave the torrential downpour without. Most ought to be glad for the impromptu shower, James mused, the vast majority of them covered to some extent in the nasty Stinksap extrusion from the numerous _Mimbulus Mimbletonia_ that were dotted about the cluttered benchtop.

'James, Holly,' Professor Longbottom called to the pair. 'If you could stay behind a moment please?'

Eager for any excuse to keep out of that rain, the pair hung back, waiting until the last student had performed their shaky rendition of the _Impervious_ charm and dashed out into the howling night.

'I've got someone who wants to see the pair of you,' the professor said, barely controlling his excitement.

James frowned in confusion. Holly sucked away on the end of her sodden braid – still damp from the rain on their way in.

The door through to the professor's office swung open, and James' face split into a grin. 'Miss- Luna!'

'Mister James!' She swanned into the room, wrapping both students up in a smothering hug.

Poor Holly was looking rather confused – she had never met the woman in her life – and now had managed to inhale the end of her braid, taken unawares as she was by the foreign hug. She was pulling hairs one by one off her tongue, frowning at them as she discarded them onto the floor.

Luna nodded at her satisfactorily. 'Good, I'd be checking them for Wrackspurt eggs too, if I were you.'

Holly gave a weak smile and a nod, shooting James an _is-she-serious_ look once Luna's back was turned.

Thankfully, Cat came stumbling out of the office door, wearing what appeared to be _two_ pairs of the ridiculous pink-and-green eyeglasses that she professed gave her the ability to see Wrackspurts.

'Eep!' she cried, walking clean into Professor Longbottom's desk. Evidently they weren't so good at giving her the ability to see the _real_ world.

'Ooh darling, what are you seeing?' Luna asked intently, rushing to pull a ridiculously-ornate peacock-feather quill out from what appeared to be a muggle gun-holster at her hip.

'So many _colours,_ Mummy,' Cat whispered, awed. She kicked her shin on the corner of the work bench, hopping around for a moment, clutching at her leg. 'Ooh, I can even see the _pain.'_

All the while Luna was taking furious notes on a scrap of crumpled parchment she seemed to have stored down the front of her dress.

'Hi Cat,' James and Holly chorused with twin smiles.

'Isn't Professor Longbottom _brilliant_?' Cat squeaked in delight.

The pair hesitated, unsure of the context.

'Ahem.'

'Oh yes Professor, you're great. Best in the business. Favourite Herbology Professor I've ever had.'

'I mean he _got Mummy here,'_ Cat insisted, removing both pairs of glasses and rolling her eyes exasperatedly. 'As soon as we found out Renshaw was leaving he owled Mummy. I _told_ you she was coming. Isn't he brilliant?'

She leaned in and whispered into her mother's ear, loud enough so that all gathered could hear.

'See, I told you he'd make a great Daddy.'

Professor Longbottom seemed to choke on something rather nasty around this point, and had to excuse himself abruptly, tripping over the same corner of the desk that had stymied Cat on his way out, knocking over a _Mimbletonia_ plant and treating them all to a near-spattering of the devilish Stinksap.

'Surely Renshaw will know who enters and leaves Hogwarts,' Holly probed, curiously. 'That must be part of the Headmistress perks, or something.'

'Oh without a doubt,' Luna said offhandedly. 'But there is little she can do on the matter. She has, after all, encouraged the Professors to source as much outside help as possible to aid in classes this year. Something, something "well rounded education" I believe was the justification.'

The twinkle in her eye as she said this brought a mischievous smile to James' own face.

'So what are you- oof,' James trailed off as within the space of a heartbeat Luna had drawn her wand and jabbed him firmly in the solar plexus.

Suddenly her face was an inch from his own, peering deeply into his eyes, she mumbled what sounded like Gobbledegook back at Cat, who was now taking furious notes, the tail of the obnoxious peacock quill waggling away vigorously.

'Dilation seventy percent, effects of exposure waning. Influx portals fluctuating violently, throughflow expected seventeen per second-'

She stood up straight, rapped him hard on the head with her knuckle. James tried hard not to flinch. She stared at him, perplexed.

'Reflexes diminished, possible advanced signs of exposure, probable stupidity-'

'Hey I- ow!'

'Stomach squishiness extreme. Fertility rating high.'

An unsettling warm, wet sensation washed over him, like thick, tepid water. It made James need the bathroom.

Luna ran a finger across James' shoulder, popping it into her mouth.

'Hmm, as I thought. Moist.'

And so it continued, for five minutes, then ten, then fifteen. First James, then – and not a moment too soon – Holly had her turn. Finally the pair of them were put through a set of exercises and tests, the purpose of which James couldn't come close to fathoming, unless it was to embarrass the pair of them.

The exercise culminated in the pair of them being magically joined at the forehead, staring into each other's eyes whilst Luna rambled incessantly to her diligent scribe. Her voice faded into the background as James was forced to focus on Holly, so close that their noses were actually touching.

Completely unbidden, a memory popped to the fore of his consciousness. A memory he _really_ didn't want to be thinking about right _now_ , of all times: Holly, her face flushed with excitement, her hair just beginning to fall from her customary braid, arms spread wide, leaning in to kiss James on the lips as they hunted for Rain's kidnapper.

His own face flushed then, his ears and neck burning with a searing, fiery heat – damn that Weasley blood. Judging by the way Holly was smiling nervously, brilliant white teeth biting softly on her lower lip, she was recalling the exact same thing.

'Ahem, you can stand up now.' Luna's voice sounded from right next to James' ear.

He cleared his throat awkwardly as he did as instructed, running a hand through his hair and pointedly not looking in Holly's direction.

'So…?' he asked.

'So.' Luna replied as if that were answer enough.

'What's the verdict?' Holly eventually prompted.

'Oh! The verdict, of course! Yes. The verdict is certainly, most unequivocally, yes.'

'Yes what?'

'Yes someone has been inside your minds. Both of you. Likely on multiple occasions, ranging back almost a year, using multiple methods and with varying degrees of success.'

James fumbled for a stool and sunk down heavily onto it. He felt that this was news one had to sit down for.

'But-' Holly stammered, 'isn't- isn't that _illegal?'_

'I'm afraid that what is legal within the walls of Hogwarts has more and more been defined by what Galatea Renshaw decides, and not what the Ministry of Magic has decreed.'

Cat was nodding gravely behind her mother, peacock quill bobbing in time with her head.

'Well what can we _do?_ ' James asked. 'Surely there is _something._ We must be able to talk to _someone._ '

'There are many somethings you may do, and many someones to whom you may talk, which I will get to in a moment. First, though, I have news from your parents.'

James brightened, then felt a little ashamed; after writing to them almost every week last year, they had hardly spoken since he had left for school.

She reached down and hugged James once more, planting a big, wet kiss on his forehead. 'That's from your mother,' she beamed, before reaching over and patting Holly on the head. 'And that is from Harry, he says to look after his boy, you must be very extraordinary if you are keeping him so busy he hasn't the time to write.'

Another round of blushes was shared by the pair of them.

'Your Uncle Ron, as of yesterday, no longer works for the Ministry, James,' her voice took on a more serious tone. 'A Ministerial Inquisition found him guilty of Assault against another Wizard, whom he punched in the nose earlier in the year. Harry was forced to let him go. It's something that they have been planning for a while now; Ron is off to help Uncle George at the shop for the meantime.'

James sat, stunned. His father had mentioned the Inquisition at the start of the year, but he had pushed it from his mind. He just felt so disjointed from what went on in the outside world, it was easy to forget it existed at all.

No more Harry and Ron stumbling in through the Floo at a quarter past midnight, covered in leaves and mud from some far-off land, sharing a glass of Firewhiskey and a few hushed laughs before bed, James and Albus crouched hidden behind the sofa, eagerly listening in for any skerrick of information on their Auror adventures.

'The news isn't much better for your Aunt Hermione, unfortunately. She is being shifted around, handballed between departments almost on a weekly basis. She is achieving nothing, spending all of her time tied up in orientation meetings, inductions into her new department before she is shifted to the next one.

'Your father is manning an increasingly under-staffed and under-funded department, being asked to complete more and more menial tasks, to the point where the Aurors have become little more than an auxiliary force to the Steelhearts, who have taken over almost all Law Enforcement duties.

'There is a war being fought, James, but it is within the Ministry, not without. _Someone_ wants your family gone from power, badly. Someone powerful enough to have the Minister for Magic on their side. Or, more worryingly, someone powerful enough to have the Minister do their bidding.

'What they _won't_ tell you in the _Prophet_ , is that the attacks are increasing. Changing, but increasing in frequency. Wizards disappearing by the score, entire _families_ going missing, and not just from England. Perhaps the most concerning was an illegal Floo intercept by your Father, two weeks ago. Fifty witches and wizards from the sub-continent; bound, wands snapped, likely Imperiused. Someone is trafficking humans, James. Why? We don't know, but the Ministry is doing nothing to stop it, sweeping it aside as they dally on such simple issues as this Merfolk Treaty, keeping peacemaking in the public eye, whilst the dirty work goes on behind the scenes.'

'So… _who?'_ Holly whispered. James was unable to speak, still processing all of the information, worries creeping in about his Dad all of a sudden. Was he really as infallible as the legends all said?

'Renshaw,' hissed Cat with surety.

'My darling,' Luna crooned, spinning to stroke Cat's hair. 'You know we have talked about this. I know what you See, but we cannot fixate too strongly on whom we should hate. Remember the story I told you about Headmaster Snape.'

'Yes Mummy.'

'The truth is that we don't yet know. But rest assured we are looking into it. Kitty Kat will have every copy in the _Quibbler,_ and she knows the secret code, should we need to communicate.'

Cat nodded proudly.

'For now, though, I must run,' Luna had produced a fist-sized watch from her pocket, with pop-up hands, stars and a shining crescent moon. 'I'm sure that we will meet again soon, friends.'

With that she spun, abruptly disappearing through the door to Professor Longbottom's office.

'But Luna!' James called. 'What about the mind stuff? You haven't told us what to do.'

'Don't be silly, James. I've given you all you need.'

James looked at Holly in shock, but Holly had something held in her hand.

'Miss Lovegood, you've left something behind – a book.'

'What's that darling? No, I haven't. I've everything I need with me right here. Impossible.'

'But this book, I _saw_ you drop it here.'

'What book? Oh the games you children play. And people say that _I_ am insane.'

With that the door slammed shut, Cat disappearing with her mother. The pair shared a perplexed look, James reached out and touched a very _real_ book in Holly's hands.

' _Wicked Whimsies for the Wiley Witch or Wizard,'_ Holly read. ' _Forgotten Magickes for Ejecting Unwanted Trespassers: A Comprehensive Grey Magic Guide to Mind Magicke.'_

'That sounds useful,' James conceded.

'And dangerous,' Holly whispered, thumping the tome down atop the bench.

Emblazoned across the cover was a burning purple Ministry-marked stamp: _Confiscated for Destruction – Illegal Magic._

* * *

'…and then as we were coming back, in this tiny walkway just outside the Entrance Hall, James got me really wet.'

A yawning silence stretched between the six of them, as Holly realised what she had just said.

Tristan pushed himself up slowly from the tasselled cushion on which he sat, striding over to James, offering his hand.

'On behalf of the majority of the second-year boys of Hogwarts, James, let me offer you my congratulations.' His face was deathly serious.

'Wha…?'

'Tristan, _don't,'_ Cassie sighed.

'You're gross,' Holly squirmed.

James still had no idea what was happening.

'I started something of a secret kitty, outside of the Lenders notice, obviously. I tell you what, I didn't have a lot of faith. My money was on somewhere in fourth year. Even _with_ my help, I'd given you up for a lost cause.'

James shook his hand, wondering how all this was relevant, and why the girls all looked like exasperation personified.

'Fifth year was me,' Fred chimed in. 'I had it pegged as an accident. Like, maybe you'd just trip one day and it'd sorta just _happen._ '

'I'd even picked Clip before you,' Tristan added gravely.

' _Hey!_ I heard that.'

'You're both just so clueless. It really was a toss-up.' Tristan spun to face Holly, crouching down to meet her eyes, where she was sat with her arms folded, a healthy dusting of ruddy colour smearing her cheeks, and her eyes looking a flat, steely grey. 'So how'd he do it? Romantic, in the rain, I suppose.'

 _Finally_ it dawned on James what had just occurred, and he lunged for Fred's open satchel bag, latching on to the first thing he could find and tossing it square at Tristan's face. There was a bang, a flash of blinding light and a wave of coruscating, heavy smoke. When it finally settled Tristan – and Holly who had been collateral damage – both were sporting luscious purple eyebrows that flowed all the way down to their chests.

That episode deftly put an end to their study session, and the group splintered as they left the Library, a vexed Holly and Tristan traipsing off to the Hospital Wing, while the others made their way back to their respective common rooms to turn in for the night.

Cat split off to send a last-minute owl, and so it was that James, Fred and Clip stepped through the portrait hole together into the chaos that held the Gryffindor common room in its grasp.

A large circle of students – mostly first- and second-years – was clustering around the centre of the room. Many of the older students were out, using their later curfew to cram in as much study as possible to keep up with Renshaw's Herculean workload. The occasional cheer went up from the gathered students, and ripples of laughter bounced around with a menacing overtone.

Curious, the boys elbowed and jabbed their way through the crowd, Fred brandishing his wand to clear a path. When they finally came to the centre, leaving a trail of curses and angry stares in their wake, James' blood froze in his veins.

Al and Rose were sat together on a couch in the centre of the room. Both held large books tightly to their chest. Scraps of parchment, the only remains of their homework, littered the floor at their feet. They were both pushed as far into the couch as they could possibly manage, Rose curled up in fear. Al wore a defiant scowl on his face, his green eyes blazing in the torchlight, but he was wandless; James saw his trademark ghostly Aspen wand clutched together with Rosie's in the hands of their aggressor.

Preston Lynch.

'I hear your daddy got fired yesterday,' Preston goaded Rose. 'Does being useless run in the family? It sure would explain a lot.'

Corvus Summerbee and Odin Mills – Preston's two usual sidekicks – led the round of laughter. A single tear leaked from the corner of Rose's eye.

James had seen enough. Fred didn't even try to hold him back this time as the pair dashed in to the centre of the circle, blind rage painting the scene crimson in James' eye.

Preston turned, noticing the movement in the circle too late. James could see him fumbling with the three wands in his hand, struggling to draw his own. They had him unawares. James was already bringing his own wand forward, summoning the nastiest, most painful Hex he could imagine. He opened his mouth to yell it-

-and ran straight into the fist of Odin Mills.

The blow from the much larger student rocked him, killing all of his momentum and sending him crashing down onto his backside. The room spun, James momentarily lost all orientation, his only sense the taste of steely blood in his mouth. When he finally came to, he saw Fred sagging in a crushing headlock from Corvus, Clip held at bay by two wands from Preston, levelled at his chest.

'Well, well, well James, trying to save the day again? As you can see, we have it all in hand. We were just having a bit of a chat with your _loser_ brother and his _girlfriend_ , filling them in on some current events. Did _you_ know your entire family is about to be sacked from the Ministry? Any day now, I should imagine. I'd be mortified, if it was me.'

'Shut it, Lynch,' James growled through gritted teeth. His jaw burned like fire if he opened it too wide.

'I do think we're all done here, anyway. Come on boys, all this conversation has made me sleepy.'

Corvus dropped Fred unceremoniously to the ground, Preston tossed Al and Rose's wands to the far side of the room. Before they left he turned, sneering in James' direction.

'I'd watch yourself, little Jamesy. You wouldn't want to get into too much trouble, what with your _spot on the Quidditch team_ riding on your good behaviour, as Renshaw said.'

The bottom dropped out of James' stomach, a cold, clammy feeling washing over him as he watched Preston's receding back. Rose dashed off to the girls' dormitory in a flood of tears; Al began methodically tidying up the mess the bullies had made. The rest of the students began to disperse around them.

'Why do you let him do that, Al?' James asked, holding a conjured block of ice to his jaw, stubbornly refusing the Hospital Wing.

'I don't _let_ him,' Al snapped back. 'He's bigger than me, stronger than me, and there's more of them than there are of us, or didn't you notice?'

'Yea, but surely _someone_ will stick up for you. It's-'

'James, in case you hadn't noticed, Rosie and I are hardly the most popular in our year. The novelty of being the great Harry Potter's son wore off on you. And now the _Prophet_ is saying such nasty things about our family. I don't have a hundred friends in each house to help me out, James. There's just the two of us.'

'Well we'll look after you. We can follow you, I can send someone to watch you between classes, and-'

'James, _drop_ it. It's not worth it. Lynch was right, you have your spot on the team to worry about. He's just an idiot, they're all idiots. And they'll keep doing it as long as they know you can't help. It doesn't matter; doesn't bother me.'

'But it bothers _Rose,_ Al, can't you see that?'

That pulled him up short. He studied James pensively for a moment, before turning on his heel and marching away.

'I'll talk to her,' was all he muttered in response.

It was a long, long time before James headed up to bed that night.

Despite Al's vehement protests, James made it his business to follow his brother everywhere over the coming days, keeping out of sight whenever possible. So it was that he found himself traipsing back, alone, behind the Gryffindor Quidditch team after a particularly gruelling training in the incessant, sleeting rain that was still rolling in in waves from the Black Lake.

Quidditch training was the one time when Al was alone with Preston, and there was little that James could do about it. He was still waiting on the "all-clear" from Madam Petheridge, he had desperately been visiting her every day, forcing her to examine him again and again in the hopes that his sheer persistence would wear her down. Next weekend was a game against Ravenclaw, and he'd be damned if he let Lynch sit in the team stand for that one.

Mercifully, the training had been too gruelling, and Lynch appeared to have insufficient energy left to do anything other than trail along at Ryan's heels like an obedient little puppy, laughing overloud at his statements, no doubt sucking up to the captain as much as was humanly possible. James clenched his fists in disgust, his momentary lapse in concentration letting a deluge of rain slip through his _Impervious_ charm, soaking him from head to toe.

James soon lost them in the driving rain, happy at least that Al was safe for tonight – Fred was up there somewhere, too – and his wanderings took him on a meandering path across the grounds, content to be alone with his thoughts and the rain for company.

No Quidditch, no way to stop Al being bullied, no way to even _convince_ him that being bullied was a problem. A paralysing mandate to keep his nose clean, and a promise to a friend that he would break some of the biggest school rules in the book just to retrieve an item of clothing. His family being embarrassed at work, to serve some hidden, malevolent agenda. Nothing, he could do about it, about _any_ of it.

He needed… something. Help. Someone to talk to, an adult to take this weight off of his shoulders. He was supposed to be looking after Al, winning Quidditch matches, acing classes. Head Boy in the making, the son of the great Harry Potter. Nothing was going right; he had never felt more alone and isolated at Hogwarts than he did, walking through the grounds next to the lakeshore, the clamouring, furious waves echoing the raging, directionless furore that played out within his head.

His mind was too crowded to control his magic, and the water cascaded over him, rushing down across his vision in runnels, soaking his hair and his clothes in an instant. His feet slipped and squelched in his shoes, and he flirted with many a broken ankle as he stumbled and slipped across the drenched rocks, only vaguely heading in the direction of the castle, the sun now well and truly set behind the mountains to the west.

As he extracted himself from a particularly deep, cloying puddle of mud, he noticed a figure standing, equally alone, out _in_ the Lake. He wiped his face on his sleeve, shielding his eyes against the downpour, trying to make out definition. He could see little beyond the blonde hair. Bright, vibrant blonde, visible even in the swirling, shrinking half-light.

Perhaps it was his need to offload his problems overcoming his fear of the individual, perhaps he was just losing his mind out there, stumbling about in the rain, but he took one step towards the figure, then another. Despite the risk it no doubt meant to his life expectancy, despite the fact that he was likely this certain individual's second-most-hated person in the entire castle, he walked out to meet Zoe Meadows.

The wind thrashed against him, buffeting him, causing him to misstep and stumble his painful way through the icy, enervating water. Lethargy gripped his lower limbs before he was halfway out to her, water beginning to splash up into his face, causing him to spit out mouthful after mouthful of the silty, muddy mix. She was standing at waist height – almost chest height to him – and he had to fight to keep his head clear as he finally came abreast of her.

'What the-? Oh, _Potter_. Of course it's you.'

'Er, Professor,' James shouted to be heard above the wind and the sound of the crashing waves. 'What are you _doing_ out here?'

'Thinking,' she replied without looking at him. 'I wanted to be alone.'

'Me, too. But, erm… don't you think we should do that indoors?'

'There are people indoors.'

Hard to argue with that logic.

'Isn't it a little-' he sputtered around an involuntary mouthful of spray – 'a little dangerous out here?'

She was silent for a time, then. The wind howled around them, tossing her hair about in lank, saturated ropes. She turned to face him, her expression grave. Mascara ran deathly tracks down her cheeks, staining her skin a haunting black.

'Do you know what's dangerous? Keeping me locked up in a castle with _her._ When every chance she gets she reminds me of _him._ During classes, in the corridors, Duelling club. There's no escape James. That's what's dangerous. Dangerous to my sanity, my state of mind. I'm sure _she_ will tell you that's fragile enough, as it is.

'And still Renshaw pushes me. "Get over it. Break it off clean. It will fade with time." It's a lie, James. All of it. It never fades, you only forget for a moment. But it's always there, _always._ Hovering over you, like this-' she gestured to the sky above them. 'Clouds so heavy and dark that they block out the sun. Everywhere you look is shadows, mocking you, questioning you, _doubting_ you. Telling you things, whispering words in your ear. Things like _inadequate, failure, deserved._ And it never leaves, never…'

She broke off into silence, and it was a while before James realised that she was sobbing, her body shaking silently, battered by wind and rain, unheeding.

'Haven't you taken enough from me?' she finally screamed up at the sky, slapping the water angrily. 'What more do I have to give?'

James could only watch and feel helpless as Zoe Meadows fell apart before his eyes.

'Do you know who I was, before this, James? Do you know _what_ I was? This was mine, all of it. Mine for the taking. I had once-in-a-generation talent. A once-in-a-lifetime friend. I was a Goddess, James. And now…' she trailed off, laughing madly, spinning on the spot, falling, sputtering beneath the waves, before righting herself unsteadily on her one good leg. 'Now I am forced to watch, day after day as children march past, unaware of the gifts they have been given, so arrogantly brandishing, unaware that they can be taken away like – _that.'_ She slapped the water again.

'And now she forces me to relive it. Renshaw. Every day. Train her. Mentor her. This is your legacy, she tells me. This is _pathetic!_ My legacy was to be painted in blood and gold, not with sweat and tears. Gods laugh, James. They laugh at me but it is laughter fraught with nervousness, for they knew how close I came to toppling them all.'

Monologue complete, Zoe leaned forwards unannounced, sinking below the waves before James could catch her. Desperately, he dived forward into the searing frigidity, fighting through the murky, buffeting currents, clutching at a handful of robes, jerking on them only to find them empty, their inhabitant disappeared, out of reach.

He pushed himself up to the surface, peering around for any sign of her, squinting against the rain that lashed his face and torso. His extremities were beginning to seize up now, his fingers becoming stiff, one shoe lost, a single, socked foot cut and bloodied from the sharp rocks. He took a deep breath and dove beneath the surface, his head pivoting left and right for any hint of Professor Meadows.

A flicker of light caught his eye, and he swum towards it desperately. Something began to coalesce out of the roiling shadows; a figure, human in shape.

He stopped dead as he approached. Human in shape down to the waste, where a long, flowing silver-grey tail took over.

Desperately, James tried to push himself backwards, treading water to get away from the figure, but this was not his home, and so he was caught in an instant.

Light, brilliant to his eyes, forced him to squint. A gesture in his periphery and a bubble of air enclosed his head, allowing him to breathe, to speak. Slowly the light faded to a level where he could see. He gasped in spite of himself, feeling something akin to relief for the first time this evening.

'Kjalsettr,' he breathed instinctively.

'Spawn of Harry Potter,' the mermaid replied to his honorific.

'May the current flow always at your back,' he snapped out. A customary greeting for one of the Merfolk of sufficiently high social standing. Her myriad pearl-and-shell necklaces marked her, not only as the Mermaid James had almost conversed with previously, but as one of Royal blood.

'And may the sunlight filter down upon you,' she responded.

She saw the puzzlement on James' face and laughed a musical laugh that danced cleanly through the water, despite the way it crashed and whirled about James in a frenzy.

'You are the spawn of Harry Potter,' she repeated. 'In my eyes, at least, you stand high enough to warrant such a response. I desire very much to talk with you. But now is not the time. Now is the time to leave, both of you. Immediately.'

'Great idea,' James gasped – finally someone with sense.

'Take to the castle, and lock the doors, spawn of Harry Potter. The shores of the Lake shall not be safe for human nor the Merfolk this night.'

'What?' James asked, perplexed. 'It's just a storm, isn't it?

The ethereal light that followed the Mermaid Cheiftaness began to fade, giving way to the muddy brown darkness of the subsurface.

'Just a storm? Perhaps, in the way that the one you call Voldemort was _just a wizard._ Danger rides the wings of this storm, Potter-spawn. Nay, this storm rides the wings of the Danger, and there is nothing natural at its heart.'

By the time she had finished her sentence, James was alone again beneath the waves, tossed and ragdolled about. He felt a current building around him, gathering him and pushing him upwards, onwards, finally spitting him out ashore, next to a coughing, sputtering, bedraggled Professor Meadows.

Her face was a mess of dark mascara and thin streamers of blood from myriad tiny cuts, but her eyes – thank Merlin – were perfectly lucid.

'It seems, young James, that even the waves do not want us this night.'

What followed was a long, silent and painful trip back up to the warmth of the castle. Professor Meadows bade him farewell as soon as they stepped foot inside, going so far as to offer him a fleeting, sopping hug and a whispered, 'thanks' before limping off in the direction of the Staff Room.

James turned for one final look out over the lake through the crack in the closing doors, and saw what looked to be flickering lightning, dancing and skitting across the far horizon. Had he not already been chilled to the bone his blood would have run cold at the sight of the colours: reds and blues, fiery golds and ethereal, other-worldly greens.

 _Danger rides the wings of this storm._


	12. Chapter 12 - Socks

' _Imminuum!'_ James cried, slashing his wand diagonally across his body, dissipating the jet of faded red light that was hurtling towards his chest.

He spun to his left, sensing rather than seeing the spell that shot past his right shoulder, returning a pair of Knockback Jinxes at his attackers – one male, one female. Both of his spells fizzled out uselessly and he cursed, his chest heaving from exertion.

His eyes cast desperately about the room for a distraction, something to split their attention. His recovering muscles were burning from the short bursts of activity; the desperate dashes and frantic flight from twinned spellfire sent his way.

Sweat plastered the hair to his forehead, he ducked low beneath one Leg-locker, tossing up a nearby cushion to intercept the second.

A dull _whump_ echoed off the stone walls, and a shower of feathers exploded outwards, caught up upon the wind drifting in from a nearby shattered window pane, the breeze courtesy of the fearsome storm that raged outside.

' _Ventus!'_ James roared, sensing his opportunity and levelling his wand.

The twisting, chaotic cascade of feathers hurtled with a _whoosh_ towards his two attackers, occluding their view and offering James a much needed opening to take the offensive.

' _Expelliarmus!'_

The answering cry of surprise, followed by the far-off clattering of wood against stone told James that his first spell had hit true. As the last of the feathers drifted down to dance about his ankles, he advanced on his last opponent, the female.

Odds now evened, James set about raining spell after spell down upon her, driving her back again and again. Each time she managed to narrowly avoid his barrage. A well-placed _Imminuum_ here, a fortuitous stumble there, and James felt his frustration growing. He felt something at his feet, kicked out at it, sending what turned out to be a book in her direction, fouling her step just enough to give James an opening.

' _Expellia- arm- achoo!'_

The force of the sneeze rocked him bodily. He looked up just in time to see a purple jet of light collide with his ribcage, knocking him down with the force of a screaming Bludger.

Beyond that, he knew only a world where wave after wave of sensation washed over him, forcing him to his knees, and then to the floor where he writhed around, the air forced from his lungs, unable to speak.

Laughing hysterically, squirming desperately beneath the oppressive reign of Cassie's Tickling Charm.

'And don't you ever- kick- a book- _again!'_ She punctuated each word by beating him over the head with what felt like a brick, only then releasing him from the spell where he lay, panting on the floor.

Cassie stood straddling him, a portrait of righteous fury. Her usually-immaculate hair was in wild disarray, sticking up madly at the back and slicked with sweat. Her cheeks were an angry, flushed red, her eyes wide and condemning. For someone so small, she sure did look large from James' current point of reference. It didn't help that above her head she held aloft an ancient dusty tome, pages torn, the cover scarred. He thought it best not to point out that _she_ was the one who had probably just caused it the most harm.

'The mighty James Potter, done in by a cold,' Clip laughed, approaching, but wisely keeping his distance from Cassie. He was working his shoulder as if it were tender – likely where James' Disarming Charm had hit him amongst the feathers.

'A bloody nuisance,' James grumbled, wiping angrily at his nose. Cassie frowned and took a hasty step back, finally allowing him to stand.

'So let me get this straight,' Tristan drawled, sauntering over to join in on James' misery. ' _You_ are sick all of a sudden. _Professor Meadows_ is sick all of a sudden, and _both_ of you were missing Saturday night for a good hour or two… I'm no Arithmancer but I can put two and two together.'

James' frown made his confusion apparent. Cassie already had her head in her hands.

'You were out kissing Professor Meadows!' Tristan laughed. 'It all makes perfect sense! That story you told us was ridiculous at best; this is much more believable! Perhaps I'll have to pay up on that wager after all!'

'What?' James squeaked. 'That's _ridiculous!_ I never-! I _told_ you-! We were- Anyway, that's _gross,_ Tristan. She's a teacher; she's like… _old_.'

James had about a second and a half to wonder why Tristan looked like he had just seen a Lethifold.

'Is that so, James Potter?'

Fred's long, low whistle was all the confirmation James needed.

'Er… hello Professor,' he stammered. His friends had all now disappeared as if they had Apparated on the spot. 'You didn't…?'

'Oh, I most certainly _did.'_

James swallowed nervously.

'Old? _Old?_ James, just how _old_ do you think I am?'

She was marching him up through the mass of students gathered in the Hall for their weekly Duelling Club gathering. Many were now breaking off their own bouts to watch, whispers radiating out from the pair like ripples in a pond.

Step- _thud,_ step- _thud._ James kept his eyes firmly fixed on the floor.

He remembered some advice Uncle Ron had given him about guessing a woman's age. Was it to guess higher, or lower? He strained, trying to remember the occasion. Guess the wrong way, he knew, and he was as good as dead.

James was drawing a blank. He knew that _he_ wished he was older, so he figured that must be it.

'Erm, maybe thirty-five?'

Zoe stopped dead in her tracks. It seemed the entire room froze around them, a hundred and fifty breaths held together. It was that moment that James knew he had gone the wrong way, and that the face of Zoe Meadows might be the last one he would ever see.

'Thirty- _thirty five?'_ she practically screeched, pushing her hands to cheeks, pinching her skin, as if feeling for something. 'You think I look _thirty-five?_ James Potter if you weren't my student I'd- _achoo!'_

It was her turn to sneeze now, the lingering remnants of the cold they had both picked up from a night spent floundering about in the freezing Black Lake. Unlike James' monster, hers were dainty little high-pitched things, forcing her to squeeze her eyes shut and jump as if she'd just been electrocuted.

'I swear I'll- _achoo!_ Cut off your- _choo!_ And use them as paperweights! I'll do things to you that'll make your _mothers'_ hair curl- _achoo_!'

Out of nowhere, Tristan appeared at James' shoulder, paused as he was to wait for Zoe's sneezing fit to pass.

'Now I'm not sure about that first part, but if a woman ever says that second part to you-'

' _You!'_ Zoe rounded on Tristan, who now wore a mask of pure terror. 'Both of you – _achoo_ – dais. Now.'

James looked to Tristan, sharing a shrug before continuing the trudge towards the centre of the room, where a raised, elongated platform bisected the area, used for Exhibition Duels and demonstrations.

Not so bad, as far as punishments go, James mused. He thought he could take Tristan. James knew he liked fire-based spells, which Professor Meadows had strictly forbidden. Outside of that, he was a slow, methodical, wear-you-down type duellist. A tactic that James was-

'No, no, not like that. Get on the _same_ side.'

James' confidence evaporated. She _wouldn't._ Would she? How mobile could she be with that leg?

'Brooks. Rain. Up here, now.'

James' groan of despair was lost in the ripple of laughter playing through the eagerly shuffling crowd. This was just as much of a death sentence.

Holly and Rain mounted the dais from opposite sides, sharing a brief smile before turning to face the boys. Holly's eyes flashed malevolent, ghostly silver, a terrifyingly predatory twist to the grin she wore. Rain's face was calm, implacable. Her wand was lowered, hand not shaking in the slightest.

Holly leant in and whispered something to Rain. Something that made her giggle and blush in a very un-Rain-like manner.

Professor Meadows cleared her throat.

'You may – _achoo! –_ begin.'

James was revived shortly after to find that he and Tristan had lasted a paltry twenty-three seconds against the two girls, who were currently being mobbed by what seemed to be every other girl in second year. The group was a seething mass of giggles and titters, interspersed with the occasional smug glance towards James and Tristan, the latter of whom now had his ears transplanted onto his forehead, and seemed unable to grasp the concept of balance.

'Wow,' breathed Clip, rubbing his neck a little sheepishly. 'You guys got _stomped.'_

Even Professor Meadows was looking smug. She did an excellent rendition of a saunter despite her leg, leaning down to offer James a hand up off the floor. Her gaze was steely hard, but she was betrayed by the flitting shade of a smile that danced at the corners of her bright pink lips.

'Now who is looking old,' she simpered.

'I think I liked you better when you weren't talking to me,' James grumbled.

She held him at arm's length for a moment, surveying him for damage before bending down and pulling him into a brief hug. It was a gesture, perhaps, to show that the water between them was now clear.

'I _knew_ it,' hissed Tristan with a wicked smile.

James' mood was still somewhat sour as the students filed out of the room later that evening. The vast majority of the girls in the hall were still tittering behind their hands in his general direction. Tristan was no longer present to share the brunt either, having been ordered to the Hospital Wing to reaffix his ears to their usual position.

As a result, James was feeling rather glum as he left the room, alone, at the back of the group. Professor Meadows had already limped off, wincing and grumbling about how all the activity hurt her leg.

He looked down at his feet as he trudged up the stairs, a hazy, melancholic fugue descending slowly around him. He froze as he came to a third-floor landing, marked by a particularly frivolous pink-and-green rug that clashed horribly with… everything.

There was a pair of feet in his path.

He looked up at the person attached to those feet, the swirling melange of sensations in his stomach giving it away before their eyes met.

'Hello James Potter.

'Hello Rain,' he replied flatly.

She was dressed rather oddly – somehow having managed to change clothes in the time it had taken him to drag his heels out of the Hall where Duelling Club had occurred. She was dressed all in black; black socks and tights, a black, snugly-fitting hoodie, and in place of her now-customary scarf, a cowl hung loosely around her throat. Her hood was pulled up, and her red-gold curls spilled forth down her chest. Gold glinted around her neck.

Truth was, Rain currently made up one half of his least-favourite duo in Hogwarts at the moment. He stamped down on the queasy, light-headed feeling that her presence always engendered, snuffing it out almost entirely – something he had never been able to do before.

Rain gave off a little cough, like she had just had the wind punched out of her.

'It breaks my heart so, when you aren't happy to see me, James.'

'I wonder why.'

'Hi James!'

James started, as Holly glided around from behind him, slinking into his field of view, silent as death's whisper, and dressed identically, her long, black braid hanging from the hood was the only way James could tell them apart.

He rolled his eyes and groaned.

'Don't be a pouty Pixie,' she mocked, reaching out to pinch his cheeks. ' _You_ could have ended up with your ears on your forehead.'

James, still sulking, remained silent. He took in their attire, the setting, the late hour, and the way that Rain's eyes were constantly darting up and down the staircase around them.

'I'm not sure I like this new friendship thing you two have,' he mumbled.

'There's someone I want you to meet, James Potter,' Rain replied calmly.

'Yes, James _Potter_ ,' Holly mocked.

Rain led the pair up the remaining stairs, onto the fourth floor. Curfew for the junior students was fast approaching, and the corridors were nigh on silent as the three ghosted through them, leaving little more than a trail of disturbed dust as they passed through passageways which lay more and more out of the way.

Finally, they stopped in a dingy corridor, lit only by a single torch held in a warped, wrought iron bracket. Alcoves dotted the length of the passage, concealing their own secrets within a cloak of shifting shadows, and the sole suit of armour sat rusted and forlorn, its sword snapped off just above the hilt.

'In here,' hissed Rain, leading them into a particularly shadowy recess.

James stopped, and stumbled as he found himself in a cosy little room about ten feet square. The stone in the corridor outside had been cut in such a way that the entrance was impossible to see from the hall, hidden as it was amongst the dark, shadowy alcove.

The room was well lit – how it didn't spill light out into the corridor was beyond James – and, entirely panelled in dark wood, with a thick patterned carpet. Cushions were strewn about as the only seating, scattered among them were several books and scraps of parchment, all with intricate drawings that James recognised as maps. A set of robes were folded neatly in one corner, and casually leaning up against the wall opposite them was a figure.

James recognised the face, if not the name. She was a Ravenclaw, second year, but not a friend of Cassie's. One of Rain's "other friends" perhaps?

'James, this is Annecke. She is going to help us tonight. We're going to-'

'Yea, yea, steal the scarf. I guessed that.'

He eyed Annecke where she stood, but made no move to go and greet her. The gesture was returned.

She was dressed identically to the other two, though her hood was down. She was tall and slim, and held herself perfectly straight, like James imagined of a ballerina. Her hands were tiny and delicate, nails painted black. She had pale, misty green eyes and blonde hair almost as long as Cat's, though where Cat's was wavy, Annecke's hung perfectly straight. James got the impression that she put a lot of effort into making it so.

James had once heard Uncle Ron talking to his father one evening, following a few glasses of Firewhiskey, about people; Ravenclaw people in particular. If James recalled correctly, it had been the night following the completion of an especially tricky case in which they had been out-witted numerous times. They had finally caught the suspect, and found that he was a Ravenclaw student from two years below them at school.

Fire and Ice, Ron had said. Ravenclaws fell into two categories; they were either fire or ice. Fire, he had laughed, were the crazy ones. The ones who had that weird, burning desire to just _know_. To learn and discover and teach everything. They were the ones who obsessed over test scores, who went all giddy and cross-eyes each time they touched a new book. He said he had had a lot of experience with Fire. He had said they were erratic, eccentric. Hard to understand, if you didn't know what they were. But ultimately, they were harmless. Their headlong rush down the path to acquire knowledge would leave them armoured against implication. Their search was for their own benefit, and therein lay the crucial distinction, Uncle Ron had said, between Fire and Ice.

It was Ice, who was truly dangerous. Cold, aloof, calculating. The ones who took their knowledge and worked it, melded it until _it_ served _them._ The ones who bent no knee, who would worship only at the altar of the Gods of cold, cruel Logic. They would enter the room and instantly have the measure of everyone in it, they would spend an hour with you and _know_ you. Better than you would know yourself. For in them nestled, perhaps, the greatest vice of all of humankind; the gift – or the curse – of justification. Where Fire may have been oblivious to the implications, the potential of the knowledge they held, Ice was all too aware. That, in itself was perhaps the scariest part of all. No means were too great to accomplish their ends, nothing was indispensable save for themselves. In their heart there was conviction to match that of any zealot. In the end, there was no outcome worth achieving if its price was not paid in blood.

James' mother had promptly strode in to the room and thwacked Ron around the head with a pillow, threatening that should he ever make an attempt at being insightful again, that she would toss him out the house on the spot. He had left shortly after, and James had trudged back to bed, but four years later those words were still burned into his brain.

Annecke was Ice. He could tell, just by looking at her. Or, perhaps, by the way _she_ was looking at _him._ If Rain was aloof, then Annecke was on an entirely different planet. She just dripped superior indifference, gave it off in chilling waves. James had to check her footfalls to make sure that she wasn't leaving tiny little patches of frost everywhere she walked.

If _this_ was the type of people that Rain was hanging out with on the side, James wasn't overly sure he wanted to meet any more of them.

'Why are we dressed like we're in a Muggle movie about to break in to their Gringotts?' James asked, eying the pile of clothing sceptically. 'We're going to be under the Cloak, aren't we? I assume that's why you've had me carry it around everywhere I go for the past week.'

'They were my idea!' Holly beamed, pulling the cowl up and the hood down tight, striking what James imagined a stealthy pose would look like.

'I rather thought I'd fancy seeing you all dressed up,' Rain purred from where she stood, leaning with one shoulder against the wall. A sultry smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

'You two are _impossible_ when you're together,' James sighed, throwing up his hands.

'Now there's something we can agree on,' Annecke drawled, tossing a hand through her hair as if bored.

James shot her a confused look.

 _It talks?_

Seeing no way around it, James conceded the point and changed into the clothes, picking at the thin, tight-fitting fabric uncomfortably. He was relieved when Holly finally pulled out the Map, and the pair of them stopped looking at him like he was a particularly tasty dessert.

'Get us to the Headmistress' office without being discovered,' she whispered, touching the tip of her wand to the parchment.

James watched hungrily as tiny trails of ink spiderwebbed out from the point of contact, scrawling across the page in beautiful, organized chaos. Every time a line met there was a tiny flare of light, and words began to appear, naming passages, floors, wings of the castle. Nobody breathed as the Map continued its work, the lines of ink flowing like thick, black blood over the entire sheet.

James could easily see why Wren had valued this map so highly; it was _beautiful._

Holly silently turned the pages, flicking through to where they were located.

'Alright,' Rain said calmly. 'This is the plan.'

The four of them padded out on socked feet, all crammed in beneath the cloak. James took the lead, tenting the cloth before his eyes to make the most of his view. Despite their size, four was one too many for the cloak to cover properly, and so their progress was measured in awkward, crouched staggering, a multitude of stepped-on toes, and a bevy of silent cursing.

The clothing really wasn't warm enough for a frigid November night, and soon James was having to clamp down on his chattering teeth, adding a clenched jaw to his burgeoning list of discomforts, including sore toes, burning thighs and a constantly running nose.

He was beginning to feel that this espionage wasn't quite all that it was cracked up to be.

The group passed a tense moment on the third floor, when an upturned corner of a rug caused James to stumble, pulling the Cloak down with him. For a terrifying moment, four pairs of feet and legs were on full display, right as a Hufflepuff prefect strode around the corner as part of a night-time patrol.

'Who's there?' he hissed, drawing his wand and non-verbally casting a _Lumos_ spell.

The light from his wand-tip advanced up the darkened corridor, his tentative footfalls following close behind. He paused as he came abreast of the group, casting his vision around into the darkness. The four stood pressed up firmly against the wall, cold seeping into their bones from the unforgiving stone. None dared breathe.

'I'm sure I… _Homenum Revelio!'_

Holly let out a small, startled gasp. James scowled at her, confused. She was pointing in horror at the soft orange glow that was encompassing the four of them, pulsating gently, clearly giving off light even through the Cloak.

James' breath caught in his throat, as the Prefect turned to face them. His confusion was obvious; the four of them weren't visible to his eye. He reached an arm out, swiping the air in front of him like a blind man, slowly closing on their position. James pressed up against the wall, squashing into Rain and Holly behind him.

Two steps away and the prefect raised his wand. James was looking desperately up and down the hall for some form of distraction, trying to work his wand free of his pocket. The hand was out again, groping the air so close that James could see the dirt beneath his nails.

James barely noticed the incriminating orange light fade, but as soon as it did he felt an arm wrap around him, grabbing him firmly, forcing him to the left. The group stumbled two, three steps, clear of immediate danger. Silently, he turned to see Annecke guiding them, her face impassive, steering them clear of the fumbling Prefect.

James knew they weren't out of the woods yet. All the prefect had to do was to cast the spell again, and they would light up as plainly as before.

'Wait a minute… I know this portrait.'

The four froze in terror again. James felt Annecke's grip tighten, tugging him onwards. She, of all of them, remained the only one thinking calmly.

James couldn't help but watch as the Hufflepuff student tapped thrice with his wand in the upper-left corner of the portrait they had cowered in front of. It was a massive, wall-length landscape piece. Home to a small tribe of medieval wizards who often tried to cast spells and spears alike at passing students.

 _Of course…_

Annecke finally wrested the group around the corner just as James caught a glimpse of a section of the painting swinging outwards, followed shortly after by a pair of students in a tangle of arms and legs.

' _Richards?'_ Came the prefect's voice. 'That's the third time this week. And a _different_ partner? I should think…'

The yelling trailed off as the distance between them increased, and the group collectively let out a sigh of relief. Holly pulled out the Map and pored over it momentarily, using the wavering light from a nearby torch to read.

'We're still on track,' she whispered.

 _Thanks to Annecke's quick thinking,_ James added silently.

Their descent through the castle from that point was far more methodical and slow. Holly checked her watch what seemed like every three steps. Rain's body became more and more tense the closer they got; James could feel her next to him, the way all of her muscles were coiled, her breathing shallow and fast. Not for the first time James found himself wondering just what was so special about this particular scarf.

The second floor corridor leading up to the Gargoyle statue was deserted; dusky moonlight slanted in through the windows, painting looming shadows which marched across the floor. A slight breeze was creeping in, blowing at their backs and making the hem of the Cloak ripple softly. The rush of an owl's wings caused the group to jump.

The twin pedestals either side of the entrance to the stairway burned menacingly; the only sources of light in the entire corridor. They lit the stoic guardians with an ominous, flickering light, making them seem to tower above the students, many times their own height.

The flagstones beneath their feet were worn smooth, James' socks sliding over them easily as they approached. He was clenching and unclenching his fists to stop from shivering. Perhaps it was a trick of the magic, but a growing sense of dread was beginning to burgeon deep within his chest; a sense that they were walking to their doom. He cast a sidelong glance at his companions, but found only steely resolve in the reflected moonlight from three sets of pale eyes.

They paused there, at the base of the stairs, beneath the stony regard of the Gargoyle watchman, currently inanimate.

'And now we wait,' James whispered.

Time stretched on for the group, crouched as they were out of the way of anyone who should be walking the corridors at night. The cold, having been threatening all night, revelled in its newfound opportunity to seep deeply into James' core. Each gust of the breeze slicing through the flimsy fabrics he wore like they didn't exist. Even three bodies in close proximity wasn't enough to keep him warm. Shortly all four were shivering violently, an enervating haze trickling down into James' legs from the prolonged crouching.

Finally, footsteps.

He felt it in Rain's body; felt her muscles spasm, her breathing cease altogether. The first part of the plan.

Rain and Holly between them had staked out the entrance to the Headmistress' office each night for the past week, and found two things. Firstly, every night around eleven p.m. Deputy Headmaster Artemius Plye would enter the office with a bundle of parchment. This was their way in, for if there was a password to activate the Gargoyle, none of them knew it.

Professor Plye would spend approximately two minutes in the room each night, and then return without the parchment. They then had a fifteen minute window before Wren would enter, again each and every night, again with a stack of parchment. They would sneak in with Professor Plye, find wherever the scarf was hidden, replace it with a fake, and then sneak out before Wren arrived, unseen.

Annecke would wait at the base of the stairwell, out of sight. If they hadn't returned to pick her up by the time Wren arrived, she would step out and distract her, hopefully buying enough time for the three to make it down safely.

Just as they expected, Professor Plye arrived. Just as they expected, he was bearing his usual loot – a thick stack of neatly-arranged parchment, tucked beneath his left arm. Flawless, so far. So why was the sense of dread now so strong that James was almost paralysed by it?

'Go now,' hissed Annecke, as the Professor paused before the Gargoyle.

Her voice in his ear snapped him into motion. She deftly disentangled herself from the cloak, staying crouched out of sight in a shadowy alcove behind a suit of armour. The three scurried across the open corridor, leaping onto the bottom stair just as the staircase began to revolve.

'My, my,' the Gargoyle muttered. 'Busy night tonight, indeed.'

Professor Plye looked around for a moment, shrugged, and returned to studying the sheaf of parchment in his hand.

The trip up seemed to take a lifetime. The three were afraid even to breathe too loudly, so close were they to the Professor. Any misstep or stumble and the game would be up. They dared not even take a step backwards for fear of tripping over.

Mercifully, the stairs stopped moving, their journey came to an end before the great, stained oaken doors leading to the office of the Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Professor Plye pushed them aside without a hint of awe or circumstance, leading the three inside with his brisk stride.

His footfalls echoed eerily across the polished wooden floorboards. The group stayed huddled beneath the Cloak near the entrance, for fear of generating the same treacherous sound.

There were no torches burning, and the only light came from the crescent moon, shining in through a gap in the clouds outside. Professor Plye was briefly illuminated as he stepped calmly through the silvery puddle on the floor, still striding purposefully, still blissfully unaware of three cowering students hidden out of sight right under his nose.

From what James could see in the half-light, the room itself was much as he recalled from his previous trips up here: stark, bare, militaristic. It was almost _soulless_ , in a way. As if the lack of decoration – down to the notable absence of the previous Heads of School – was a reflection of Renshaw's personality herself. As if the secrets to that confronting, challenging gaze, and those dark, painted lips were on display in the coarse grit of the naked stone walls.

The room of a powerful woman, certainly. But perhaps the room of a woman who fought alone. For there were no slashes of colour, no injections of life into this landscape. No _joy_ that so often came from sharing life's journey with another.

Welcome, then, to the world of Galatea Renshaw. Look not too deeply into this stark abyss, lest you see a reflection of yourself staring back.

Professor Plye was walking back past them now, on and out the door. James had hardly noticed, so caught up in the chilling, gripping reverie that had held him rooted in fear. The solid oaken doors glided shut with a dull _thud,_ and he was the slowest to emerge from the Cloak.

'Come on James,' Holly urged. 'We've got to find that scarf. I can't see it anywhere.'

James nodded mutely, folding up the cloak methodically and stepping over to set to work. Rain was busy, meticulously sorting through the modest stack of parchment built up on the Headmistress' desk. Holly was busy sliding about the polished floor on her socks, checking amongst the few cupboards that were present, situated near the back of the room and wrapped deep in the shadows.

Rain wordlessly handed James half of the stack – the one that Plye had just deposited – and he began to peruse them hastily.

 _547 – Sum total negative twenty to Ravenclaw. Two incidents: arguing with Professor; misuse of Library Book_

 _562 – Sum total positive ten to Hufflepuff: assisted in removal of Devil's Snare from student's throat._

 _563 – Sum total negative thirty to Hufflepuff: deliberately antagonised Devil's Snare plant against direct orders. Resulted in category four risk to student wellbeing._

He frowned; these were lists. Every student who had won or lost points that day, ordered by their number. Was Renshaw keeping count? He'd pay good Galleons to get a peek at that list. What did it serve her? She seemed insistent on tracking students' individual progress in much more detail than had ever been done. To give them the "most well-tailored learning experience possible" was her reasoning. As James flicked further through the list, seeing the frightening detail into which it went, he couldn't help but wonder what the true purpose behind it could be.

 _769 – Sum total positive five points: Correctly answered tier three difficulty question._

That was _his_ number. He stared momentarily at the page. The entry was underlined. Twice. He continued to flick through, heart racing. So were several other entries. Some underlined, some with a little 'X' beside their name. He put the stack down, unwilling to read on, frightened sufficiently by what he had already seen.

'Eight minutes,' Holly hissed from where her head was jammed into the bottom shelf of a large, claw-footed cupboard at the back of the room.

The jolt of adrenaline forced James into motion and he scooted across the slick floor to investigate a small, waist-high chest beneath the window.

He tried to pry it open, but the lid wouldn't budge.

' _Lumos,'_ he whispered, drawing his wand to inspect it further.

Inky black scrollwork was etched into the dark, rich wood. All around the perimeter, just beneath the lid. What looked like tiny scratchings were in fact a series of carved figures; Runes, perhaps. If that was true, then opening this was far, far beyond his capabilities. The way the characters pulsed gently with a black, light-killing aura did nothing to lessen the sense of dread that had been his constant companion this entire trip.

Curiosity, desperation – and perhaps stupidity – overcoming self-preservation, he reached out and touched his wand to the Runes.

He was immediately flung backwards across the room, letting out a curse in alarm. He skidded across the smooth floorboards, coming to a halt by cracking his elbow agonisingly on the corner of the Headmistress' desk. He got to his feet slowly, cradling the injury and wincing. A strange sensation was trickling down over his body, slowly creeping up his wand-arm. The feeling of being _compressed,_ of having an invisible netting draped over his entire body, and pulled tight. It reached a brief crescendo, forcing a puff of air from his lungs, before dissipating entirely and leaving him with full-body pins and needles.

He eyed that chest warily; whatever was in there was something that Renshaw clearly wanted to keep hidden. Could it be that Madam Petheridge had placed the scarf in there? If so, they were doomed-

'Got it!' Rain hissed triumphantly, tearing free her hood, holding the silken fabric aloft like a trophy.

Holly skidded over to her side, surveying it with a critical eye.

'Well I guess it's nice enough,' she grinned. 'Not something I'd risk expulsion for, though. A bit bland for my taste. Doesn't bring out the grey eyes, you see.'

James rolled his own eyes, meeting Rain's gaze, feeling her palpable relief wash over him, allowing him to let down his guard for the first time in what felt like forever. She tugged down her cowl to reveal a smile – a _real_ smile – something it seemed like she did only once or twice a year. Her teeth shone brilliantly in the reflected moonlight, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She reached out and pulled the pair of them into a brief hug. James felt that crippling, icy touch at his chest again, though by now he knew not to flinch back from it, merely savouring the moment revelling in their victory.

'Let's get out of here,' he eventually said, breaking up the celebration and eyeing the door wistfully.

'We've got four minutes,' Holly whispered. 'Check these out first, I found them in that back cupboard.'

There it was again; that sense of dread, shotting to the fore so strongly as to send James into a wave of dizziness. _No!_ His mind was shouting. For some inexplicable reason, though, he kept quiet.

The first sheet was a hastily scribbled letter.

 _Provost,_

 _It is as we expected. Total annihilation of both the initial expedition and the recovery crew. We expect no survivors. The coastline here is ravaged; several muggle fishing villages have been destroyed. Ice creeps ever closer, and with it the cold that kills these weak creatures. Punitive action is not recommended. Not here, at the heart of their power. They will come to us, if what you hypothesize is, in fact, what has happened here._

 _We shall spend a further day here and attempt one last reconnaissance mission. We shall attempt to gain visual confirmation. Expect another missive on the morrow. Should you not hear from me, expect the worst._

 _Your ever-faithful Adjunct._

Rain's smile had faded. She was replacing her cowl as James finished reading. He noticed her fingers shaking as she did so. Her eyes were unwilling to meet his own. He reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her chin around to look into his eyes. Mercifully, the nauseous feeling was absent.

'Whatever it is, it's half a world away, Rain,' he whispered. 'As scary as she is, we can trust Renshaw to protect us.'

She pulled away from his grip, taking a step to put distance between them, a distance that suddenly felt insurmountable.

'Can we, James?' she whispered. Her voice broke and that alone caused a pang of panic to reverberate in James' chest. She put a hand to her chest in an obvious gesture, touching the spot just above her left breast where James new there was the most horrifying scarification he had ever seen.

'You're scaring me a little,' Holly added with a sorry attempt at a light-hearted chuckle. 'It sounds like this is on the other side of the world.'

 _There are things happening across the world that we must be aware of, must be wary of. I shall tell you this, Mister Potter, before I leave you: My return to England was not by chance._

A previous conversation with Renshaw in this very office. Her own words. Was _this_ what she was referencing? James stared at her desk fixedly, lost in a cold spiral of thought. Rain stood frozen, one shaking hand now held to her mouth. Holly was caught looking back and forth between them, her own thoughts no doubt running riot through her own mind.

So it was that none of the three heard the footfalls on the steps outside the door. None of the three heard the fumbling at the door handle. None of the three reacted at all, until the great oaken doors swung inwards on well-oiled hinges, spilling torchlight onto their frozen scene. Torchlight that brought with it a fourth figure.


	13. Chapter 13 - Inside

_A/N: Shout-out as always to the reviewers, you're all wonderful. One more chapter and then its Xmas holidays!_

* * *

James froze. Rain froze. Holly gave a little twirl, vanishing the sheets of parchment in her hand and then she, too froze.

The Cloak was tucked into James' bag. There was no chance to grab it before they were discovered. The figure was muttering to herself, three steps into the room and still oblivious to their presence. James was sinking slowly down behind Renshaw's expansive desk.

'Can't _believe_ her, _just_ because she is head girl… Thinks that she can boss _me_ around?'

Clearly her troubles were of great import, as she was still yet to notice three petrified students slowly creeping towards the nearest available cover. James was now only head and shoulders above the desk.

The figure checked her watch. Long, silvery hair and a glint of a Prefect's badge winked in the moonlight. James would know that figure anywhere.

'Oh, Teddy darling, I'm sorry I'm going to be late. I'll make it up- what- _James?'_

James closed his eyes in despair, cold prangs of despair stabbing through his chest. The three of them were still very visible, now also looking very ridiculous, squatting halfway down behind the desk.

'What in _Merlin's name_ are you doing up here? How did you even-? Did _Wren_ let you in? Is this some sort of a joke? I _told_ her I was Flooing- never mind.'

'Erm…' was James' only response.

All three of them stood up slowly, wearing identical sheepish expressions. A sinking feeling was careening through the pit of James' stomach, all the way down to his legs.

'We wanted to see the Headmistress,' Holly blurted out.

'At eleven o'clock at night? When the entire school is aware that she has left and isn't returning until tomorrow? I doubt that.'

James withered under Victoire's frosty gaze. She stalked over to the table, the heeled boots she was wearing echoed with a _clack-clack_ on the polished floors, filling the silence with their mocking laughter.

'Oh. Right.'

Victoire threw up her hands, making a vexed _tsk._ 'I suppose you're _my_ responsibility now. Are you sure Wren didn't send you? It'd be just like her, trying to ruin my evening. It's not enough that _she_ gets Head girl the year her favourite Aunt just _happens_ to become Headmistress, no…'

The three shared a confused look. Rain was ghostly pale. James shrugged uncertainly.

'We'll go straight back to bed,' James tried. 'You can follow us if you like.'

Victoire studied them for a moment, her dainty mouth twisting into a pensive slash. She even went so far as to put a finger to her lips, lost in thought.

Finally, her eyes lit up, and she smiled a wicked smile.

'Oh no,' she crooned. 'I've a _much_ better idea.'

She marched them through the corridors of the castle, just as cold as before. The rush of adrenaline was no longer present to keep their blood running hot. Silent reflection and brooding despair were their only companions on the walk.

Conversely, Victoire appeared to be remarkably chipper all of a sudden, striding along purposefully, making small adjustments to her appearance as they went. Tying her hair back, as they strode along a particularly breezy corridor open to the elements; adding a touch of lip gloss as they stomped up a tight spiral staircase between the second and third floors; unfastening an extra button or two on her blouse as they paused outside of a familiar door.

This couldn't be good.

'Oh pro- _fessor!'_ Victoire sang in a musical voice. She smiled menacingly down at James.

Three more times she had to rap firmly on the solid wood, before noise came from within.

'I'm fucking _coming!_ Morgana's tits, this had better be good. Do you know how much trouble it is for me to- oh.'

The door had been flung open, and a harried, exhausted Professor Meadows stood before them, breathing laboriously from the effort of dashing out of bed in the middle of the night whilst effectively only having one leg. She leaned down, ignoring the gathered party, and gave the offending limb a rap with her wand. Her wooden lower leg twisted sharply into alignment. James winced in sympathy at the look on her face as it did so.

'Good evening Professor,' Victoire crooned, running a hand coyly through her long, shining silver-blonde hair.

It struck James, then, the contrast between the two women. Victoire, tall and graceful, looking so _perfect,_ with her hair pulled back neatly from her face, lips shining in the dull light, lashes full and fluttering. And then Zoe, a full head shorter, scowling openly, dressed in an unceremonious silk nightshirt. Her hair was a wild rendition of bed-head, her mascara smeared. It took a while for James to realise that the thing that stuck out the most was her lack of the trademark bright pink lipstick. She just didn't look like _Zoe_ without it.

'There'd better be a damned good reason for you bringing three of my students out here in the middle of the night, Weasley. If you've just decided they need extra Defence homework then I swear I'll take my leg off give you something to help with your posture.'

Victoire shook off the threat with a melodious giggle. 'Oh Professor, I've always admired the way you never lost your sense of humour, in spite of… _things.'_

A muscle twitched on Zoe's neck. Victoire seemed not to notice. She happily forged on with her story of capturing the students lurking in the Headmistress' office.

'…you know what the protocol is now, around all of this. Immediate escalation, directly to a teacher, Renshaw herself insisted it. I immediately thought of you, Professor. Not sure why… perhaps because I'm due for a Floo date with Teddy. Shall I send your regards?'

James winced at the low blow, running a hand through his hair uncomfortably. He could see Zoe's eyes; the way they changed from dull and sleep-hazed to sharp and glowering in an instant. There was a flare of something else, too, something much sadder. James couldn't help but feel a pang of resentment towards his cousin for her scathing words.

'In there,' Zoe growled between clenched teeth.

The three scurried past her and into the empty waiting room beyond, eager to be out of the line of fire. Zoe Meadows' temper was legendary.

'Please do,' James heard her hushed voice filtering in through the crack in the door. 'Ask him if he misses that thing I can do with my tongue, or the two-fingered surprise. Next time he's inside you, think about where else he's been. Because I certainly know he's seen some… dark places.'

Holly had descended into a violent coughing fit halfway through that little rant, and Rain's cheeks were a vibrant red to match her hair.

Professor Meadow's smug smile faded almost instantly as she slammed the door shut, locking a stunned Victoire out in the breezy corridor. She sagged visibly, and when she spoke again her voice was shaky.

'That- she… she is so _hard._ What are you three here for again?'

'Erm… friendly visit?' James suggested hopefully.

'Not bloody likely. Do you know how much paperwork Renshaw makes us do if anyone breaches her office? I really, _really_ want to be furious right now, but I kind of want to sleep a whole lot more. I won't tell her if you don't. Deal?'

James' jaw dropped, that leaden balloon of despair that had been weighing him down suddenly deflated. All three nodded eagerly.

'Good. James, I know your father had a long and storied relationship with Albus Dumbledore. By all accounts they were very close, and I know he spoke highly of him to us as we went through Auror training. But Renshaw is not Dumbledore, you _have_ to know that. She's an incredibly powerful witch, and if you believe half of the stories that circulate, then she draws power and trouble to her like a magnet. But she is dangerous in a way that Albus never was. I would challenge you to think long and hard before attempting to enter into any kind of relationship with that woman. Am I understood?'

James nodded again; the warning was most certainly not lost on him. The three turned to leave with a hasty goodnight.

'Oh and James, if I were you I'd wear that Cloak through the Common Room, and _not_ look anywhere near the fireplace. That is, unless you want to see some parts of Teddy he usually keeps… private.'

James most certainly did not need telling twice.

The scale of their brush with disaster didn't truly set in until the next morning at breakfast, when James saw Renshaw stride in from the Entrance Hall, her long dark cloak swirling ominously behind her. Her dark hair was pulled sharply back from her face. She scrutinised the students as she walked among them, as if each and every one of them had been up to no good in her brief, week-long absence.

James shared a sigh of relief with Holly, who was sat at the Gryffindor table with the group, and caught Rain's eye over at Ravenclaw. She still looked terrified.

He hadn't taken three steps out of the Great Hall before he felt a hand slide around his wrist, spinning him about on the spot.

'James.' Rain's expression was taught, her eyes skittish, darting about the room.

'What's wrong?' he asked. She was beginning to scare him.

'It's Annecke. She never came back to bed last night; she wasn't here this morning.'

'Oh, bloody _hell._ I thought maybe she just hadn't seen Victoire, or hadn't expected her over Wren.'

Truth was, he had been too concerned about their own immediate danger, he had forgotten about her completely.

'Really, James? You did _meet_ Annecke, right? Did she strike you as someone incompetent?'

James didn't even have to think before shaking his head. The pair of them were already off up the stairs, taking them two at a time, as fast as their legs would carry them.

They skidded to a halt outside the spot they had waited the night before, panting heavily. Rain's scarf was hanging loose, the golden necklace and the deep, blue sapphire – which was flickering in the dim light – were on display.

'In here,' she tugged him into a shadowy alcove behind a gargantuan suit of armour sporting a decorative tower shield.

There she was – her eyes open and staring sightlessly. Her lips were slightly parted in a look of surprise. Her long, flowing hair was stirring gently in the breeze, but it just looked so _wrong_ to James, without her fingers combing delicately through it. Her wand was on the ground at her feet, scuffed and scratched, as if someone had tried stomping on it.

'Is- is she…?' he dared not complete the sentence.

Rain just rolled her eyes, drawing her own wand. ' _Rennervate,'_ she whispered.

Annecke drew a huge, heaving breath, doubling over and descending into a violent coughing fit that lasted several minutes. By the time she straightened her face was streaked with tears and her pale cheeks were an angry red.

'What- what _happened?'_ she croaked.

'Stunned,' Rain confirmed.

'Merlin's tits,' James swore.

Annecke gave him a chilly glare. Evidently, even after an entire night stunned in a dusty alcove, she was never more than a second away from Hogwarts' biggest Ice Queen.

'Indeed,' Rain agreed. 'That can only mean one thing.'

'Someone else knows,' Annecke confirmed.

Whoever it was that _did_ know, however, seemed content to keep the knowledge to themselves for the meantime. The four spent the rest of the week in tense agony, waiting on one of Renshaw's signature fluttering-parchment missives summoning them to her office.

None came.

So tense was James, that come Friday, when he received a firm and unexpected tap on the shoulder in the corridors at the end of the day, he nigh on jumped clean out of his skin.

'Woah, Potter. Didn't think I looked that scary today.'

'You look _dreamy_ today, Ryan,' a passing Hufflepuff seventh-year took the opportunity to chip in.

'Sorry,' James blurted. 'Bit of a stressful week.'

'Right, well. I just swung by to let you know that I talked to Petheridge. You're in the clear to re-join the team.'

James just stared dumbly for a moment. The team? _The team!_ Of course – he'd been so caught up worrying about Renshaw that he'd forgotten all about it.

'That is, if you _want_ to re-join?' Ryan asked, suddenly a little uncertain.

'Of course- yes! I do! Ravenclaw tomorrow, right? I'm there! I need to oil my broom!'

'I hope that doesn't mean what I think it means,' Tristan MacMillan laughed, throwing James a winning smile as he passed by with the rest of James' friends. Fred was giving James a massive thumbs up.

'I've been asking her every night for the last week,' Ryan sighed, running a hand through his tangled golden mane. 'Bloody persistent though. I'll tell you what; don't get yourself hurt again, Potter. I've had about enough of that Lynch kid to last me a lifetime. Thought he could buy his way onto the team by getting us all new brooms. Hah! Stupidest idea I've ever heard of.

'Make sure you're limber, Potter. I've a good feeling you'll be seeing some time on that pitch before we break for Christmas.'

James nodded, shook Ryan's hand – without wincing this time – and dashed off to the common room to tend to his broom.

The game the next day against Ravenclaw was a fearsome one. A howling wind buffeted the stands, whipping and crashing in across the Black Lake, tinged as it was these days with the tang of salt. Streamers and banners were snatched up by its eager fingers, torn away in a heartbeat to swirl and flutter forlornly over the Forbidden Forest. The stands were, at best, half full. Each student was wrapped up in as many clothes as they possessed. The Reserves bench were all identically smothered in thick, scratchy coats that looked like they would fit Hagrid quite nicely. Scrappy, sleety rain lashed their faces irregularly, and James had to keep wiping the salty spray from his lips.

In a situation like this, defence was the name of the game. And Ravenclaw had that in spades, behind their legendary Keeper Aster Ogleby. The Hydra's playbook was severely maimed by the inclement weather. They were unable to play the free-flowing, across-the-pitch style that they favoured, which often had the other teams chasing their tails fruitlessly.

It was tight, it was close, and it was ugly. From the limited amount that James could see, Gryffindor were struggling. Their passing game was in tatters because of the wind, Lillian was unable to direct the troops, and for all her athleticism, she lacked the cannon arm required to throw in these conditions. Their game plan soon devolved into feeding the Quaffle to Ryan and hoping he could produce some individual brilliance.

Needless to say, the Ravenclaws saw through that strategy swiftly, and their gritty style of play began to win them a slowly-growing lead. For every goal that Gryffindor scored, the 'Claws would score two. A forty point lead became eighty, eventually stretching out to two-hundred points to eighty in favour of the blue-and-silvers.

James and Fred were both hoarse by now, having spent the past two hours yelling into the snarling wind, which snapped their voice away as soon as it left their lips. The rest of the reserves were too concerned about their own comfort, huddled deeply into their coats, keeping hands warm should they be required on the pitch.

Connor Flint threw a rocket of a pass to Lillian, who was unable to hang on, and collected a Bludger to the chest for her efforts. She was doubled over on her broom as Ravenclaw stole the Quaffle, streaking up towards the goal. James' nerves were growing; they were approaching the critical one-hundred-fifty point buffer, if they fell below that, it didn't look like they would ever get the game back.

James noticed a red-and-gold clad figure streaking alongside the Ravenclaw Chaser with the Quaffle, and nudged Fred in the ribs. 'Diana!' he mouthed. Blonde hair flailing out behind her, tucked in tight against her broom, Diana Fairbourne was haring along next to the Chaser. The Ravenclaw Seeker was coming in from the opposite side, but Diana clearly had the lead.

That was, until she tried to cut in front of the Chaser and he body-checked her, knocking her clearly off course. James screamed, but Professor Hawksby was oblivious. Diana tried again, James could see the snitch now, hovering low beneath the goal-hoops. The Ravenclaw Seeker had the better angle, and Diana was being blocked again and again; the Chaser had forgot about scoring altogether, he seemed intent only on stopping Diana from getting to the Snitch.

The entire stadium was roaring now, so loud that they drowned out the sound of Professor Hawksby's whistle, which he was blowing furiously. The Ravenclaw Seeker now had the edge on Diana, and was closing in far too fast. Diana took another shot from another futile lunge, and James began to tear at his hair in frustration.

Archie MacDougal, the last line of defence before the Keeper, had clearly taken issue with the treatment of his Seeker. He dropped down like a stone, transitioning into a flawless Sloth-grip roll right before the Ravenclaw Chaser. James watched as the entire crowd let out an almost identical 'Oh!' as Archie's foot whipped around and connected with the face of the Ravenclaw student, sending him cartwheeling clean off of his broom, crashing onto the ground a short distance away with a dull thud.

From there, Diana was able to dart in and snatch the Snitch from the Ravenclaw Seeker, weaving in between the goal hoops seamlessly, holding her shining prize aloft. The stadium erupted, whether it be boos or cheers, still none heard the furious whistle of Professor Hawksby.

James was leading the group through the Entrance Hall following the game, rushing towards the glowing heat and the buzzing atmosphere that he knew would await in the common room, when he saw a familiar face sauntering across the room in his direction. He quickly cast his eyes around for an escape route, but none presented themselves.

He hadn't seen Odette since she came to meet him in the Hosptial Wing after his injury. She had brought him flowers. He had yelled at her a lot. She had very likely saved him from getting kicked off the team. But _why?_ Did she still feel guilty about what she did to Rain? Why would she try and pay James back for that? Were things between them different now? He knew for sure that he-

'Oh, _James,_ keep staring at me like that. The day is so cold, but the heat in your gaze… It just lights such a fire _inside me.'_

James stopped dead. Odette kept walking, shooting him a lascivious wink over the shoulder as she did.

He supposed he now had an answer to at least one of those questions.

'Can I marry her?' Tristan asked, awestruck.

The temperature around the castle didn't get any warmer, and ice began to stubbornly build up around the window panes, but November continued to melt away. It rained almost every day, to the point where the Quidditch pitch and lower parts of the grounds became perpetually flooded, and the Black Lake began a slow, swelling march up towards the doors of the castle.

James had pulled Holly aside on several occasions to attempt to read the little grey book with which Luna had provided them. Every time they opened it, they managed no more than three pages before they both fell fast asleep, waking up with a start several hours later and having no recollection of what they had been doing. On the fourth such attempt, James decided that it might be best to seek assistance, to which Holly responded that they couldn't be sure that Cassie wouldn't hand the book in on the spot, as it was technically illegal property. She cast a Wakefulness Charm so strongly on James that he forgot the concept of sleep itself, and proceeded to flip open the book.

Five hours later James awoke, Holly's head on his chest, with no memory of where in the castle they were.

Despite the torrential rain, despite the way the Black Lake swirled and roiled, whipping up angry spray and lashing at the ankles of the Forbidden Forest, the students were still required to complete their Merfolk assignment. So it was that the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws were huddled beneath a magically-erected tent at the angry shore of the Black Lake early in December, wondering just how many of them might make it out of this alive.

The shore was no longer where it used to be. There were no rounded smooth stones, only muddy, sloppy grass. Trees marched out into the depths as if on some sort of suicidal mission to the centre of the Lake. They were nearly fifty feet from where the Lake had been a month ago; the incessant rain had caused the banks to break and the water to begin creeping ever-closer towards the school. Hagrid had had to construct a very wobbly stick-and-brick wall around his precious pumpkin patch.

Professor Trellsen had transformed what used to be a clearing in the Forest into a calm embayment in the Lake. The students were to enter one group at a time, decked out in the ridiculous Poseidon Cloaks, and converse with their allocated Merperson. James scowled as he waded through the muck, his five friends following behind.

'I hate swimming,' Cassie groaned.

Rain somehow had a trick where she was walking _on_ the mud, and so her graceful, casual walk was not hindered whatsoever until she dived fluidly beneath the surface ahead of the group.

'Show-off,' Fred grumbled, trying to unstick his left foot from a patch of particularly gloopy mud.

To James' immense relief, the same Mermaid awaited the group once they had finally managed to sink beneath the surface. The Kjalsettr, the Daughter-of-the-Cheiftain. She seemed overjoyed to meet his friends, and gave the translation of her name as Current-That-Stirs-The-Deepest-Silts. The group decided to call her Kal.

They chose to sit on the ground; the students encapsulated in their tiny, full-body bubbles. Kal floated lazily before them, occasionally twirling and spinning, suspended in the murky water.

'I'm a little surprised how _human_ you all are,' Fred mused at one point. 'Whenever Mum or Dad talk about the Merfolk at Hogwarts they always seem a lot more… bitey.'

A guarded look flashed across Kal's face, and she twirled irritably. 'Selks,' she hissed. 'A lesser race. Subservient to us, since our arrival in this colony. Lesser beings, lesser intelligence. More fish than human. Much like your house-elves, they live to serve us.'

'Well _technically-_ ' Cassie began. James cut her off, sensing an awkward conversation looming if they followed that path.

'What happened the other night?' James asked eagerly. 'I saw… lightning, on the horizon. Like I'd never seen before.'

Kal stopped in her "pacing" for a moment. She hung before them, stationary but for her slowly swaying tail. Her myriad shell necklaces clacked and rattled against her bare skin and one another.

'Some of us,' she began slowly. 'Are blessed with a gift. We spend all of our lives studying the flow of water, the currents. For it is these currents that are our life. Disrupt these currents, and the Merfolk perish. Perhaps you would call them shamans, perhaps even, they would be wizards, and those who do not possess the gift would be Muggles. But I digress.

'We dedicate our lives to this practice, and in return we can See more than the currents beneath the waves. We See the great air-currents that you call wind; we see the currents of life, the flow of love. And occasionally there are those few among us who can See the passage of time.

'So I must tell you that I cannot tell you, spawn of Harry Potter. For I See that if I should tell you this day, then the current ahead of you turns dark and murky, and I See no further direction.

'Your Cheiftaness, the one you call Renshaw, currently thinks that she fights to protect you from what is coming. I _know_ that we die to protect you from what is coming. We have talked with your Renshaw, we have begged her to stop meddling, for she is doing nothing to right this wrong. There is only one who possesses the power to do that.'

Her gaze lingered on them all for a long time, and no more words were exchanged.

The group returned to the surface, abuzz about the mysterious meeting, and the way their suits had kept them completely dry. They chatted eagerly about what it could all mean all the way back up to the castle. All, that is, except for Rain. Rain didn't say a word for the remainder of the day.

'Ouch, Fred! That was my toe.'

'Today I am not Fred, I am the Duke of Deception!'

'Why do we have to do this in the dark?'

'It is all about the atmosphere, oh great Lord of the Lies!'

'I _told_ you not to call me that! _Ow!_ That was my eye.'

'I was just checking to see if your hood was on. Is it?'

'It is _now_. I think my eye is bleeding.'

' _Shhh_ , they're coming.'

'We've only been waiting forty minutes.'

'Look menacing.'

'How am I supposed to do that? I can't even open my eye.'

Light spilled into the pitch darkness in which James and Fred had been hiding. Their tiny room was illuminated for a brief moment, as three figures shuffled in, confused.

'Why is it so dark in here?' Clip mused loudly.

There was a loud crash and an ear-splitting scream.

' _Owowow!_ Tristan that was my hair you just yanked on!'

'Sorry Cat.'

Fred finally waved his wand, and a flurry of fire burst out, tongues of flame licking the candles arrayed in a circle about them all, sending lengthy shadows dancing wildly across the room.

'What the…' breathed Clip.

'Welcome, Initiates, to the most exclusive club in all of Hogwarts.'


	14. Chapter 14 - Hats

By the time early December arrived at Hogwarts, the Christmas spirit had well and truly permeated the castle. The customary twelve massive fir trees stood proud behind the Staff Table. This year Hagrid had gone all out, clearly working on the principle that bigger was, indeed, better. The trees were so large that they wholly covered one side of the Great Hall. A wall-to-wall expanse of needles and branches, each tree reaching out to join arms in verdant celebration. So tall were they that their tops became dipped in the clouds, disappearing as they did far up into the magical ceiling above.

James spent the entirety of one breakfast session trying to work out where tree ended and ceiling began. He succeeded in little more than giving himself a splitting headache for the remainder of the day.

Hagrid appeared to have lain down the festive gauntlet, and all throughout the castle, teachers and students alike clamoured to outdo the scale of their celebrations. Professor Plye had them all Transfiguring various species of local wildlife into secret gifts for one another, with prizes for the most flamboyant and gaudy. James was less-than-thrilled with the toad-cum-nightlight that he received from Fred. He had managed to retain the slimy texture as well as the ability to emit an earth-shuddering croak periodically whilst it was glowing. At least it was coloured red-and-green to get them in the spirit.

Not to be outdone, Professor Longbottom had the second-years busily knitting and fitting festive earmuffs and little mittens on his most recent batch of young Mandrakes. This was until Leah Ridley thought she could cut corners by stuffing her own earmuffs over the ears of her clamouring flora, promptly fainting on the spot and eliciting an almost nostalgic smile from the Professor.

The hallways were a riot of colour: tinsel hung from every protrusion; reds and greens and golds draped over the poor suits of armour, which Professor Budd had charmed to toss confetti or dangle mistletoe above passing students. Sadly, this was discontinued after the charm backfired and a Hufflepuff fourth year ended up with a branch to the face and an outrageous black eye.

Ghosts sung carols, students skipped through the halls, the sound of their laughter joining in symphony. The silly season had most certainly arrived. James even caught Renshaw, striding through all of the merriment in her ever-present black garb, pause for a moment before a suit of armour which was vigorously brandishing an arm-thick bough bedecked with a cluster of mistletoe. As if by Apparition, Proffesors Longbottom, Plye and – for good measure – Ellfrick vanished from the room, leaving only James, Fred and a rather vexed Headmistress.

The day after that there was only a suspicious-looking hole in the ground where once that suit of armour had stood.

The facet of celebrations which had most captured the imagination of the students, however, was the _gifts._ Slowly, one day at a time throughout December, the _entirety_ of second-year received an identical parcel, popped on the end of their bed as they slept in the night. There was no name, no possible hint of who this mysterious gift-giver could be. Each parcel was identical; ten inches long, reasonably pliant, smoked slightly if squeezed, and each bore the same identical scrawl of handwriting. A code; a _time_ seemed to be the general consensus, a time before which the mysterious gifts should not – nay, _must_ not – be opened: the last Saturday of term.

Georgia Braithwaite found this out the hard way – much to Holly's glee – as the moment she tore at the outwardly-flimsy wrapping she promptly became alarmingly buoyant, floating up to the ceiling amidst a chorus of panicked screams.

The story went that she spent an entire morning up there, with nobody able to bring her down. Every time the poor girl opened her mouth a tumble of soft, powdery snow cascaded out in a sparkling waterfall, serenaded by numerous heavily-altered and incredibly crass Christmas Carols.

After that, the mysterious packages were treated with a bit more caution. A few students tried tossing them out, but each time they did, they would wake to find another one sat primly at the foot of their bed, delivered as if by magic.

The mystery held the entire school tightly within its grip.

A roar went up among the second year students as the end of class was signalled on the second-last Friday of the term. It hadn't helped that they had been practising Cheering Charms, and many of the students were bubbling with an overflow of giggles. James waited patiently in his desk, unmoving as the turmoil raged around him.

'Did you hear Emry Sameer tried to cast a diagnostic charm on his? It turned him into a chicken for a full half-hour.'

'They've _got_ to be some sort of joke, surely.'

'I heard Tansy McKendrick saying that they are letters from the Desecrator. You know, that guy who was destroying all the magical sites last year? She says her Aunt said that he's recruiting.'

'He was _caught,_ remember?'

Almost half of the conversation snippets that drifted James' way were centred on the true nature of the gifts. They were a mystery, to be sure. His had arrived just last night, with a tiny little blue ribbon on top. He was hesitant to touch it; one could never quite be too sure when it came to these types of things.

Once the class had filed out, James slowly approached their excitable Charms professor, an innocent smile on his face. Professor Budd was sitting atop a makeshift throne of books – his newly acquired lecturing chair – and humming a bouncy tune under his breath. He appeared to be completely oblivious to James' existence.

'Erm Professor? D'you mind if I ask you a favour? In the spirit of Christmas and all of that…'

Some time later James bustled from the room, checking his watch eagerly and dashing up the stairs towards the Owlery. He had a busy night ahead.

Someone had thought it a brilliant idea to tie tiny little bells onto the feet of each of the owls, and so as James approached, he was treated to a calamitous cacophony of tinkling and jingling as nearly a thousand birds hopped, ruffled and hooted.

And, of course, shat.

'Eck, gross!' James swore, un-suctioning his foot from a particularly wet pile of owl-droppings and glaring up towards the ceiling above. 'If I find the one of you who did this, I'll make owl mittens out of you.'

The whole ruddy lot of them just stared right back, unblinking. _Tinkle, tinkle._

Channelling his inner Zoe Meadows, James decided to elaborate. 'You think I'm joking? I'll grab you by the stupid poofy neck and jam my arm so far up inside-'

A very human-like, rather shocked little gasp snapped James' attention back to ground level. He felt his cheeks flare with embarrassment.

'Oh _James,_ do you always talk to the birds like that? Maybe I ought to wear a feather in my hair, then maybe you'll say such… _exhilarating_ things to me.'

'Ugh. Odette.'

She finally decided to close the door, sauntering up uncomfortably close to him so that their shoulders were touching. She was dressed, like most students these days, in almost a dozen layers of clothing. She wore a black coat with green trim, and a simple, embroidered silver 'S' on the breast. Up this close, she was _tall._ The rain outside had turned to snow, and James noticed some of it caught up in her lashes, melting slowly from her body heat.

He thought strongly about taking a step away from her, but was cut off by another steaming gift from the owls.

She rolled her eyes, as if she was far too mature to be so petty. James suddenly felt a little silly for his reaction, and blushed some more.

'You know you don't _have_ to wade through a sea of owl-mess each time.'

'I know that…' James trailed off, feeling like an idiot. Of course he did, he had just been far too preoccupied with making other arrangements. He checked his watch once more. Time was of the essence. ' _Scourgify!'_

A tiny square the size of his hands cleared from the path before him. Stupid, boring cleaning spells.

'Oh darling, you're doing it _all_ wrong. Hold your wand out. Like this.'

James just stared up at her, blinking in confusion. Odette made a vexed _tsk,_ planting hands on hips.

Without any warning, she reached down across James and grabbed his wand-hand, raising it up to chest height.

James twitched, an instinctive jerk attempting to distance himself from Odette, but she held him firmly. They had both removed their gloves once in the marginally warmer interior, and her skin was soft. James stared, fixated at her long, gracile fingers and perfectly painted, jet-black nails.

'-did you hear me, darling?'

'Wha- erm. Yes?'

' _Yes?_ Sweetie, I asked the ratio of zig to zag that you use in the wand movements for the spell.'

'Oh.'

She had turned to face him. Her left arm was still reaching across his chest, firmly gripping his wrist. Her right had snaked around behind him, and was currently cradling his elbow in position for the spell. He could see the sheen on the fresh, midnight-purple paint decorating her lips, and a tiny freckle beneath her left eye he had never noticed before. Her breath was hot and sweet, rich with Christmas spices.

She was close to what Tristan called the "tipping point" – the distance, beyond which – your faces were so close that you were going to kiss. There was no backing out once that barrier had been broached. Suddenly, an image of him and Odette kissing began to coalesce in his mind, to the point where it became all that he could think of. Terrified, he tried to back away, but pressed up against the wall there was no going anywhere. She was staring at him, waiting for a response, her eyes lidded, her gaze smoky. He could see the faintest glimmer of perfect teeth from the way her lips were slightly parted.

An owl above them screeched in alarm, and suddenly the room was alive in a tinkling, jingling riot as no fewer than twelve owls careened in through an upper window, startling the entire roost.

The pair jerked back in alarm. James had never been so happy to see a package arrive in his life. He didn't even _like_ the girl. How in Godric's name had she wrangled him into a position where he was thinking about _kissing_ her? Merlin, but he didn't even like _kissing!_

'Another day, perhaps,' she grinned, bouncing on the balls of her feet and eagerly scanning for her own owl.

James got annoyed just looking at her.

As he staggered out under the weight of his gigantic parcel, he turned at the door one last time. Odette was busy fastening a letter onto the leg of a perfectly groomed eagle owl.

'I sure am going to enjoy beating you on the pitch, next week.'

Odette looked up, not breaking eye contact as her owl hopped onto her arm and subsequently took off amidst another chorus of jingling bells. A tiny smile quirked the corner of her midnight lips.

'A date? On the pitch? How lovely! I shall make sure I do my hair.'

James couldn't roll his eyes enough as he stomped his way with his package back up to the castle through the snow.

'Again, Potter! If I'd wanted it to be this cold, I would have placed it next to my heart!

Wren, it seemed, was entirely exempt from the Yuletime cheer. Not even so much as a bow in her long, dark hair.

James scowled down at the stick he was supposed to be Enchanting with Everblaze. It remained aggravatingly free of even the faintest trail of smoke. So far, a shower of sparks from Rain, and a violent explosion from Cat were all that the group had collectively managed. Sweat was trickling down into James' eyes, despite the frigid air in the damp dungeon room. His eyes darted between the open textbook in his lap and the stubborn stick set before him.

Wren had called them all together one more time before term's end to see how they had been progressing. She had spent the first quarter hour lecturing them on the importance of keeping up with their reading – which they all assured her they had been doing. James could certainly vouch for that; he'd lost precious hours of sleep over the past weeks to a never-ending flow of thick, esoteric textbooks on the intricacies and dangers of Enchanting.

Another twenty minutes passed, filled with increasingly frustrated whispered verses and vexed _tuts._ At one point Clip let out an excited yell, only to be cut short as he realised that it was merely his nearby wand, reacting to the constant attempts at magic by its owner, and emitting a shower of golden sparks.

'That's enough,' Wren eventually barked, ceasing the eye-rolling and derisive stares that she had been showering upon them for the last hour.

James leaned back in his seat, wiping his brow. All five of them were equally exhausted. Cassie had gone so far as to point her wand at her face, generating a cool breeze which ruffled her short, auburn hair.

'As you have all no doubt just discovered, this isn't going to be an easy road to success. Nobody is going to hand this skill to you. You will not master it without considerable magical talent, the utmost diligence and hours upon hours of practice.

'The only magic that any of you produced today was of the accidental wandless variety.'

There was a chorus of disappointed sighs among the five students.

'Believe me – I know the feel of Enchanting, and none of you were even close. Tangentially, Lovegood you should see someone at St. Mungo's. If your magical core is so unstable that it can produce such a violent explosion on a whim, there's a good chance there's something wrong with you. Other than the obvious, of course.'

Cat shrugged off the not-so-subtle insult without missing a beat. 'Oh, Mummy said I'm very prone to Whimsy Sprites. They're quite playful, always getting up to mischief. I think they were just bored, is all.'

Wren went so far as to sink her face into her palm, exasperated.

'Mental deficiencies aside, you have to understand just how difficult this is. I could have had you practising that for the past month and you all would have still produced the same result, and fire is the easiest of all elements to Enchant.

'You are not just learning a new spell, you are learning a whole entire branch of magic. It is as if you are Muggles, and I am the lone witch. _That_ is the learning curve which you must surmount in order to succeed.'

 _We get it,_ James sighed internally. _You're clever Wren, good for you._ He was starting to doubt if his spiteful acceptance of this Club had really been worth it after all.

'To do this, you must _un-_ learn what you know about Magic. From the moment you think of a spell, until it bursts forth from your wand, that entire process is void. You must meditate, as it says in your books. You must open your minds entirely, let your stream of consciousness and thought meld with the Magical Flux, for only once you can sense it, can you begin to manipulate it.

'From page two hundred and seven of _The Blossoming Lotus:_ "The student must close their eyes and open their minds. They must let forth all of their knowledge to the Flux, and trust only in Faith that it shall return unharmed. For only when one can give all of themselves, and give freely, will the gift of limitless power be given in turn."'

James closed his eyes. He laid his hands, palm down, on the table. He tried to be as still and peaceful as he could, he snatched at serenity, clutched at total calm. It was ever elusive. He tried to give up his thoughts, his memories, and his secrets. He imagined himself offering them as if at an altar, holding high the intangible gift for the ethereal Flux to swoop down upon, hoping desperately that he should be found worthy. There had been an entire book on the disastrous consequences of doing this wrong.

There was no clock in the low-ceilinged, damp dungeon in which they sat, but the hands would have shifted a complete turn before James noticed anything. He was combing through his memories, desperately offering up his most hidden secrets, like the time he broke Al's toy broomstick and blamed a drunk Uncle Ron, or the time he had dove through golden fire to save a desperate friend… _Wait- what?_

 _Searing heat, a glowing barrier. Bonds, writhing, fighting, screaming. Crumpled bodies, a spill of red-gold hair. Desperation. A figure, out of place, too real. Too familiar-_

James jerked awake at his desk. He looked around, his friends were now staring at him, concern writ across their faces. All except for Clip who had apparently just woken up from a deep slumber. Wren's gaze was fixed on him, hard and icy. Her eyes were swirling with myriad guarded emotions. It was a long time before she spoke.

'That is all for now. I expect progress when you return from holidays, or I shall end this venture and write you all off as a complete waste of my time.'

'Merry Christmas to you, too,' Rain drawled back at her.

Outside, James managed all of six steps before he was accosted by his friends.

'So, did you manage it?' Cassie pounced, spinning on him and practically pinning him against the wall.

'What was it like?' Clip persisted, wide-eyed expectancy all over his face.

'So _that_ was where all the Wrackspurts came from,' Cat mused behind her ridiculous, pink-and-green goggles.

James was too busy flicking between the four of them as they pored over him beneath the torchlight. It was Rain who eventually answered.

'I don't think you did it, did you James?'

He shook his head. Concern replaced excitement on Cassie's features. Cat removed the glasses, stared back at the classroom from which they had just exited.

'You kicked the table, mate,' Clip explained cautiously. 'Woke me right up. Then you sort of went all rigid, like your muscles were all tensed up. As if you were about to jump off the Gryffindor Tower into the Lake, or something.'

'I- yea…' James recalled the building tension as he had charged through fire. But the memory seemed so foreign to him now. He grasped at it like a fading dream, but details were hazy.

'I don't think right here is the place to speak of it,' Rain suggested, sharing Cat's pointed glare at their makeshift classroom.

James agreed wholeheartedly, though he couldn't put his finger on why.

They headed back up through the castle, Cat happily changing the subject to how she and her mother were set to spend the holidays in Australia, where it was the middle of summer. She waxed eloquent about the Billywig-hunting trips that they had prepared, and promised to bring some back for the others.

'I'm going to the Alps to go skiing,' Cassie offered.

'Hey, Aunt Hermione likes that! What _is_ skiing? Uncle Ron says it's terrifying.'

'Erm, it's a sort of Muggle sport. You strap boards onto your feet and slide down a mountainside. It's really quite a rush, my family does it every year.'

James was stuck imagining a bunch of Muggles careening down the side of the Alps, decked out in varying lengths of timber. 'Muggles are _mental._ '

'Says the boy who thinks that flying around fifty feet in the air whilst students throw _giant balls_ at him is a fine example of sport!'

'At least there's no Yeti on a Quidditch pitch,' Cat offered sagely.

Their laughter was exacerbated by a nearby suit of armour aggressively tossing handfuls of confetti after them all the way along the corridor. The smile was still on James' face as he crawled into bed later that night. Despite the howling storms and the terrifying memories, the happiness of his friends was more than enough to keep him warm.

The final week of school passed in a haze of mistletoe, tinsel and Christmas Carols, but before the students could leave for the holidays there were two hotly-anticipated events that had yet to pass.

The first, obviously, was the Quidditch showdown between Gryffindor and Slytherin. It was to be a top-of-the-table clash with the undefeated Gryffindor team coming up against the streaky Slytherins, fresh of another nail-biting win over Ravenclaw, thanks to Odette's heroics.

The second was to be the opening of the mysterious parcels. The time and date that had been scrawled upon them was the coming Saturday and nine o'clock, immediately prior to the game. James strode into a crowded Great Hall that morning, his own wrapped package tucked into a pocket of his Quidditch Robe.

A distracted round of cheers went up along the Gryffindor table, met by some half-hearted boos from the Slytherins. Fred was a starter this week; Archie MacDougal had received a one-match ban for his questionable tactics in helping secure Gryffindor the win in their last match, and so Freddy had been training with the first-string all week.

He wore his uniform proudly, despite the chilly edge to the morning air. Today there was no _Reserve Squad_ jacket to hide the resplendent crimson-and-gold, and James smiled alongside him as he gave a mock bow, sliding into one of the last empty spots along the table, saved for them by the rest of the team.

'Full house today,' Fred grinned wickedly at James.

'It's those bloody parcels,' Will laughed, draining a goblet of pumpkin juice in one go. 'Even the older students are curious. Danny Williams nicked one from a Hufflepuff squirt and tried to open it last night. Turned him pink, head to toe. Come to mention it, I don't see him here this morning. He's probably still up there in the shower, scrubbing away.'

'There's no way he'll get it out,' James smirked. 'Not for a week at least.'

Will shot him a questioning look.

'Call it intuition.'

James and Fred extracted their own parcels, laying them down on the table in plain view. They immediately attracted a horde of curious stares.

'You're not going to open them,' Ryan rumbled, joining the group. It wasn't a question.

'Erm, well Ryan you see…' Fred began.

'I just get this _feeling_ that would be a really, really bad idea.' James finished.

'Merlin only knows what's in them. You're supposed to be starting Weasley. If you get yourself injured you'll be off the team indefinitely.'

Fred swallowed a little nervously. 'Let's just say we have a little _inside information_ that they're harmless. Relatively speaking.'

Ryan's lingering gaze caused the pair to squirm uncertainly.

'Looking good Freddy!' Lillian chirped, flouncing down next to Ryan, practically on his lap due to the lack of space. She didn't seem to mind. 'You too, James. You nice and limber? I thought you might have been wearing-'

'That's enough,' Ryan barked, cutting her off abruptly.

 _Wearing what?_

He pushed himself up from the table, spearing Lillian with a final, menacing look, and marched purposefully up towards the Staff Table. Lillian looked entirely put-out by the whole ordeal, a sulky expression souring her usually-bright demeanour.

'Get ready,' Fred's voice was laced with anticipation.

It was thirty seconds until nine o'clock.

A hush descended upon the entire room. Breaths were held, conversations abated. The only sound that could be heard was a whisper-shouted argument between Ryan and the Headmistress.

The rustling of wrapping paper began to grow as nervous hands fidgeted. All eyes were on the clock above the door to the Entrance Hall. Ten seconds to go.

Five.

The great, resonating chimes of the school clock were drowned out, as over a hundred pairs of hands dove for over a hundred parcels, furiously tearing at the paper. Those brave enough to refuse the mysterious packages were treated to a series of small explosions. When the smoke settled, they could easily be picked out as the few students clad head-to-toe in glittering tinsel.

'A _Christmas hat?'_ Will groaned, disappointed. 'I had been hoping for something a little more exciting.'

James and Fred had led the students in donning theirs, soon the entire second year was kitted out in identical, matching, bright-red Santa hats.

Perfect.

'Keeps my ears warm,' James retorted. 'Wanna try it?'

Will shrugged, catching the thrown hat and pulling it on tightly. James immediately turned up towards the staff table, caught the eyes of a certain excitable professor, and nodded.

 _WHAM!_

A few startled shrieks as the doors to the Entrance Hall slammed shut. Students clamoured, a few frightened voices rose above the noise. One or two were looking between the Hats and the doors, confused.

James heard three sharp raps of a wand, and then it started to snow.

The roof of the Hall became entirely covered in thick, grey clouds. An imaginary breeze swept through the room, blowing out candle after candle. The fires sputtered in the hearths. Nervous giggles ensued. Gentle, wafting snowflakes sauntered softly down to land among the students, melting away to nothing as soon as they made contact with wood or tile or robe.

'So _pretty,'_ James heard a nearby third-year sigh dreamily.

He and Fred shared their most evil grin yet.

That was when the screams began to start.

All around them, second year students were leaping up from the tables in terror, gasping, shrieking, _pointing._ The snow continued to fall, building in intensity. Swirls and eddies began to form in the drifts. James plucked a flake from his outstretched tongue.

The screaming continued.

Throughout the hall, every single Christmas Hat that the snowflakes touched melted away in an instant, a house of cards beneath a clumsy hand. As they disappeared, a sudden rush of red smoke billowed from each Hat down over the shoulders of each wearer. When it cleared again, every single student who had been hit was entirely, unequivocally, one-hundred-percent bald.

Laughter from the older students was beginning to overcome the screams now, as a hundred bald second years ran madly about the room, screaming, feeling their smooth, shiny pates, and banging furiously on the doors. The deluge spared no-one. Those who were quick enough to cower under tables were soon dragged out by joyous older students, held squealing and squirming like a pig at slaughter as their end drifted lazily down towards them in the form of tiny, white sparkles.

Will MacDougal was caught between being flabbergasted and furious.

'You-!' he roared at James, an ear-to-ear grin splitting his face.

James tried his best to look innocent, but burst into a fit of laughter upon catching a glimpse of Fred, who had nicked a candle and affixed it to the top of his bald head, the rich olive skin gleaming in the flickering light.

'I need to shake the hand of whoever came up with this,' Fred laughed, tapping the side of his nose.

'Look at the Slytherin girls! Viola Greengrass is actually _crying!'_

James looked up towards the Staff Table and flicked the briefest of salutes to Professor Norvel Budd.

'Potter.'

The firm hand on his shoulder caused him to start.

'Ryan? What's up? Second-year got a hair cut.'

'I don't care about that, Potter. You shouldn't either. I just talked to Renshaw, and there's no way around it. Flint scored a "T" on two of his end-of-term exams. He's been barred from participating this week under Renshaw's new academic acceptance rule. You're up. Are you ready?'

Suddenly all of the mirth within him wilted like a dying flower, to be replaced by a hearty serving of nerves.

'Erm yea, sure. Whatever you need. I'm ready, definitely.'

Ryan nodded, stalking off without another word. James hoped he had convinced his captain, because he certainly was a long way from convincing himself.

All of a sudden the madness around him seemed to fade, become less amusing. Fred squealing as hot wax dripped onto his newly-bald head. Cat, convinced that someone was hiding her hair just out of sight, spinning around until she was too dizzy to stand, desperately searching for her flowing, silver-blonde locks.

As the only student in second-year still with a full head of hair, James was beginning to draw a few looks and pointed fingers. He paid them no heed as the team rose as one, headed for the doors. Hands reached down, fumbling at the zipper to his _Reserve Squad_ jacket, jerking it free. The brilliant crimson and gold burned brightly.

Odette and the Slytherins awaited them in the Entrance Hall, watching the Gryffindors march past with barely-veiled hostility. James caught Odette's eyes, briefly registering the unabashed shock on her face upon seeing him in playing attire. Lillian was resting an arm on his shoulder, speaking rapid-fire instructions and encouragement. One word in five made it through his shocked fugue. None of them stuck.

Bright blue sky, at odds with the faux-snow within the Hall. A biting, sharp coldness that stabbed at exposed skin. A pale, watery sun hung low in the sky, kissing the tops of the Forest with her soft light.

 _Just another practice,_ James told himself as he picked his broom up off of the racks. He traced a deep gouge in the wood, right where his left hand would reside. He imagined his mother riding it, winning the cup with it, brilliant red hair streaming out behind her as she barrelled towards the goal hoops and victory.

The bile in his throat persisted all through the warm-ups. As the team gathered for their final pre-match speech, James found himself crouched over a toilet bowl, watery-eyed, wiping at his mouth. A massive hand grasped him by the shoulder, pulling him to his feet.

'You'll do fine today, Potter,' Ryan barked gruffly.

'I- how do you _know?'_ James blurted out. He immediately felt ashamed for asking such a childish question.

His captain paused for a moment. Squinted his rich, golden eyes at James. His mouth twisted as if he was tasting his words before speaking.

'I see a lot of us in you, Potter. The way we were in our early years. First to practice, last one to leave. We notice the little upset look you get when you don't beat us down to the pitch in the mornings.'

James gave a sheepish smile.

'The main difference, I think, is your confidence. The three of us were told that we were the future from the day we walked in here. Together, we were going to blaze a trail for a new generation of Gryffindor dominance. And we have. You, on the other hand, have Doxies like Lynch in your ear all day, bringing you down. Sirens like that Mansfield wench messing with your head – it's no accident she's taken a liking to you Potter.

'You need to believe me when I say that your commitment, your training, your bloody _knowledge_ of the game isn't average. Merlin, it's not even _above_ average. Not even Wood was as twigged on to what happens out on that pitch as you are, and she's… well, never mind what she is.

'What I'm trying to say, Potter is that there are thirteen other people in that changing room with you, and the only one worried about how you'll do on the field is you.'

James was trying desperately to stamp down on the goofy smile that was tugging at the corners of his lips. When Ryan O'Flaherty spoke to you, you didn't smile like some sighing fourth-year. He bit his tongue to stop it, nodded as gruffly as he could manage, and went in for the firmest handshake he could muster. All of those factors, plus the lasting soreness in his crushed fingers, meant that when he slammed the door on that bathroom to re-join his team, the nerves stayed behind.

And there they stayed, as the teams trotted out onto the pitch for the captains' handshake. James shivered slightly from the cold, slapping his upper arms to keep them lively.

Again, James felt Odette's eyes on him across the pitch. Of course she _had_ done her hair – dyed snowy white and tied up in an intricate braided crown. A single, pale feather was tucked in behind her ear. Her grin was predatory.

Ryan's hand enveloped hers, her feature's remained impassive beneath the crushing handshake. One long blast on the whistle by Professor Hawksby, and the players mounted up. Two more, and the game began.

Ryan instantly had possession of the Quaffle, bumping off Collette Malkin easily. There were no Bludgers to duck, as the Slytherin Beaters were currently under fire from Fred and Will. With just the Keeper to beat, Ryan zinged a shot low at the left hoop. The sheer speed behind it was too much for the hapless Slytherin Keeper. Ten to nil, Gryffindor.

James joined in the brief round of high-fives, before it was their turn to play defence. Collette led out with the Quaffle, dumping off a short pass to Selwyn MacNair, a monster of a second-year boy with blonde hair and arms like James' legs.

He looked across to Lillian, she flashed him a hand signal for man-coverage, and James nodded acquiescence, moving up to pressure MacNair. The Slytherins were grouping up on their left flank – James' side of the pitch. He fell in shoulder to shoulder with MacNair, jostling for position, working himself into an angle to cut down his passing options. MacNair threw an elbow into James' solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him. He felt a tug on the tail of his broom, but stuck with his counterpart, forcing him ever closer to the boundaries of the pitch. The wind roaring in his ears drowned out the crowd's screams as the two second-years zipped over the heads of the students in the Fred Weasley Memorial stand. MacNair was grunting, infuriated by James' stubborn insistence. They were well wide of the hoops now, making a shot impossible. James heard a short whistle, a coded message from Lillian, and he dropped off the pressure instantly.

MacNair, sensing the opening as a gift, immediately turned towards the hoops-

 _THUD._

-right into the path of a perfect Bludger sent by Freddy.

James scrambled as the Quaffle dropped like a stone – he had been supposed to slide into position to catch it. He zipped past a dazed Selwyn MacNair, scooping up possession and turning up the pitch.

He immediately cast his eyes around for Lillian. She was in a tussle with Collette. Will decided the outcome of that one with another well-placed Bludger and James heaved on the Quaffle to get it to her, tossing it with all his strength into the wind.

Unfortunately, all of his strength was not quite enough, and he watched in horror as the momentum of the Quaffle died beneath a particularly brisk gust, and it fell right into the arms of Tennyson Braithwaite. Ten couldn't believe his luck, darting up towards the Gryffindor goal and slotting a shot in through the central hoop thanks to a well-executed Dartmouth Dive to fake out the Keeper.

James kicked himself internally. The pass had been there, he just didn't have the arm strength to deliver it. He slapped himself on the chest and reset for offence once more. The pass went to Lillian off the restart. She signalled James to push up the right side and dropped a pass in front of him as he came past Ten Braithwaite. James tucked the Quaffle under his arm, haring up the pitch. Ryan cut sharply infield, breaking free of his defender with ease. James tossed it to him, wide open now. The two of them had the pitch to themselves, Ryan drew the Keeper with a fake shot, instead lofting the Quaffle perfectly to James. He caught it, fumbled momentarily in his slick palms, and dropped it in through the goal hoops for the first – and likely easiest – goal of his career.

'Shake off that pass, Potter,' Ryan called above the roar of the crowd. 'Happens to the best of us. Nice job.'

James grinned, wheeling his broom around to play some defence once more.

This time Lillian called a zone defence play, and the three Chasers dropped back from their Slytherin counterparts, each covering a designated area of the pitch. The Slytherins hesitated, unsure of how to attack this new look. Selwyn tried to make a break up field between James and Ryan into what appeared to be open space. Both players kept their discipline and didn't turn to chase. The pass from Collette shot over James' head, and right into the waiting arms of Lillian.

She fed James the Quaffle. He turned up the field, stopping on a dime to let a Bludger screech past him harmlessly. His loss of momentum meant that Collette Malkin was able to tear in and collide with him in a bone-shattering collision, forcing the Quaffle out of his hands and leaving him clutching a stinger on his right arm.

Goal to Slytherin, twenty points apiece.

That the Slytherins were out to target James was no surprise. He was the smallest and most inexperienced player on the pitch. The game dragged on, a far cry from the trouncing that had occurred when the teams first met.

The pass that fell short wasn't James' last one of the game. Thrice more he attempted to toss the Quaffle into the building wind, each time resulting in a turnover. He could _see_ the play, he knew what it was, but his small frame was betraying him time and again. As the minutes turned into hours, the physical nature of the game began to take its toll. Selwyn MacNair loved throwing elbows, and one scuffle near the turf had James tossed clean from his broom, landing face down with a mouthful of dirt. He was unseated shortly again by a rocket of a Bludger from one of the Beaters, sending him on a brief but panicked ten foot drop once more.

Clouds began to gather, thick and steely-grey. Much more reminiscent of the recent weather. This clouded the visibility, made the Quaffle harder to hold on to. Collette fought James for a fifty-fifty pass, coming up with the Quaffle and leaving James with a bloody claw-mark down his cheek for the effort.

At two hundred sixty against two hundred thirty in favour of Gryffindor, the rain really set in. Careening in sideways from the lake, making passing – and scoring – nigh on impossible. Bludgers flew through the sleet, connecting with limbs and bodies. Blood mixed with the mud caked onto broomstick handles, bruises blossomed under teeth-rattling collisions. A stray fist collected James' jaw, leaving him reeling for a moment, missing an easy pass sent his way by Lillian.

A streak of red passed him on the left, one of two unsullied jerseys left on the pitch – the Seekers. Play halted momentarily as both Odette and Diana converged on a spot just above the centre line. James couldn't even _see_ the Snitch, let along track it. Ryan used the distraction to break away with the Quaffle, but James had eyes only for the show at midfield.

Odette was tearing in from above, lining up for a Wronskei Feint. Diana had a lower, safer angle, but was a half-second behind. The two girls converged in a splash of mud and a tangle of limbs. Diana was the first to rise, but her hands were empty. Odette had caught the Snitch. Gryffindor had lost.

Ten Braithwaite brushed roughly past James as he rushed to congratulate his captain who was currently making mud-angels in the centre of the field. The Gryffindors slowly drifted down towards the changing rooms, James now carrying the heavy, leaden feeling that this loss had been entirely his fault.

'Chin up, James,' Lillian offered him a supportive hug. 'You did well, that was a tough one out there.'

James could only grumble a nonsensical response. He tried to catch Ryan's eyes but the Captain was shut off in his own world, a sour expression on his face.

James didn't even bother changing out of his robes as he showered, letting the steaming water wash over him. The mud fell away into the drains, but try as he might, that sinking feeling refused to follow.

Not even Fred's ridiculous bald head could cheer him up.

They trudged up towards the school as a team, trailing the rest of the students. The Slytherins were still celebrating out on the pitch. James was glad he wouldn't have to look at Odette's stupid face for a whole fortnight over Christmas.

The team paused as they came across the majority of the student body, milling about in the rain. Nervous conversations were rippling out from the centre of the massive group. James shared an uncertain glance with Fred, before ducking into the press to see what was causing the hold-up.

The track from pitch to castle was outlined by a cobbled stone path, overgrown in places. It was completely absent in others, present only as a stretch of muddy, flattened grass. Many of the stones were slick and slippery after a heavy rain, providing at best treacherous footing for the unwary traveller.

The spot where the student body had halted was where the track reached its lowest point, a great sweeping arc down before the lakeshore, where a broken grassy bank gave way to rounded, wet stones and gently lapping waves. Except that now, the waves were completely covering the footpath, and their lapping had become far from gentle.

Some more adventurous students were attempting to strike up the treacherous slope and avoid the water. Even as James watched two lost their footing and fell gracelessly, amidst a ripple of nervous laughter from the onlookers.

A great, rumbling _boom_ of thunder reverberated around the valley, rolling in as a physical force across the lake. The water rippled and flattened beneath the shock wave. Several students gasped as a gust of air blasted them, knocking even more off of their feet.

James turned to look out over the water. Where once there had been clear sky, clouds now ruled. Lightning flashed, in myriad crystalline colours. Pink and blue pastels danced menacingly across the horizon.

A single rending scream rung out, a death-knell. Students clapped hands to ears, added their own terror to the peal. James felt himself thrown bodily backwards, all sound now gone, only a faint ringing in his ears. He slipped and slid in the mud, got tangled in flailing limbs from frantic students at the bottom of the press. He fought and elbowed his way to the surface, the ringing in his ears only growing.

A brilliant blue bolt of that very same lighting had struck within their midst. It left a singed, smoking ruin on the shore, just beyond the reach of the water. Stood proudly within the centre of that twisted scarification was a spear made entirely of ice.

* * *

 _A/N: Dun dun dun... Ice spears, you say? What is this craziness? Who could it be? What's with all the lightning? And why does Odette seem to have such a fascination with our young hero?_

 _Stay tuned next week to find out what the Potters have for Christmas dinner, how young Lily has been faring, and maybe, just maybe, what the whole deal is with that nasty scar of Rains..._


	15. Chapter 15 - Study

_A/N: Merry Christmas! Well, it is if your name is James Potter, at least. Shout out to the reviewers, you guys and gals are great. You make this so much more enjoyable :) Now go ahead and enjoy!_

* * *

'Ugh, Harry, not _again!'_

Ginny Potter's frustrated shout barrelled up the stairway to where James was sat, cross-legged at the end of his bed, a book resting in his lap. The last of the afternoon's rays were slanting in through the window, illuminating an endless cascade of suspended motes hovering above the pages. James stifled a yawn and placed the book atop the mussed-up covers. Curiosity and boredom getting the better of him, he slunk out for a look.

'-really got to run, love,' Harry was saying, his eyes darting back and forth between Ginny and the fireplace. 'I have to follow up on this lead. Ron sent it through just now, overheard it from a customer at the store. Apparently they've found-

'Hey James, didn't see you there.'

Both parents turned to face James as he appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Harry flashed him a quick thumbs up and a cheeky grin, before darting to the fireplace, shouting 'Weasley's Wizard Wheezes!' and disappearing in a rush of green flame.

'That _man!'_ Ginny roared at nobody in particular.

James' eyebrows rose as he rounded the corner and peered further into the living room, where Harry had clearly been working. Every imaginable surface was covered in sheets of parchment, most full to the brim with his tiny, cramped handwriting. Some sheets glowed faintly in the dim light. Several were blue, a whole horde glowed a soft peach colour, and one bright green sheet pulsed softly, in tune with James' heartbeat.

'What's all this?' James asked stepping forth to inspect the mess. Usually his dad kept all his work papers at work – what with it mostly being secret Auror stuff and all.

'Don't go in there,' Ginny snapped, grabbing him firmly by the shoulder and spinning him around. 'Your father's working on something important. Best if I clear it up. You head on up to your room, dinner will be ready in an hour.'

'How come Dad's working from home?' Al asked, appearing behind James. He walked straight into another stiff-arm from Ginny, pulling him up short.

'It's not _work,_ per se. Just something he's working _on._ I'm sure Luna told you all about how poorly things are going at the Ministry. Those idiots couldn't catch a cold, let alone an international criminal mastermind-'

'So dad's trying to _catch_ someone?' Al pounced on that revelation.

'No- he- not necessarily-'

'I bet it's the Desecrator' James piped up, his curiosity well and truly piqued.

'What's the Mirror of Er… Eh-rised?' Lily asked, pronouncing it like "arise-d". She had appeared in the lounge from the kitchen, and was hungrily perusing several sheets of parchment. James glared at her enviously.

'It's Eri- _sed_ , darling,' Ginny sighed, exasperated. 'Come along, out of there. That's Daddy's important work stuff.'

Lily shrugged, dragging her feet along the carpet and her eyes along the parchment as she slowly left the room. James spied a sneaky little smile adorning her face once she was out of Ginny's line of sight.

'Alright, everyone upstairs while I clean this up, now!'

The three children scampered. They knew all too well not to try their luck when _that_ tone of voice came out.

'So Dad and Uncle Ron are hunting someone,' James whispered to Al and Lily, safely barricaded in his room at the top of the stairs, door firmly locked.

'But they're trying to keep it hidden from the Ministry,' Al mused. 'Even keeping it secret from _us.'_

'You two haven't seen what they've been like,' Lily said. She had claimed the bed the instant the three had entered the room. Both boys new well enough not to bother contesting. 'Every day another argument, another stupid fight. First Uncle Ron, and then Aunt Hermione both left the Ministry-'

'Wait a minute, Aunt Hermione got _fired?'_

'No, you Puffapod-brain, she resigned. Two days ago she got a secret letter while she was here complaining to Ginny about whatever it is Dad and Uncle Ron are up to. As soon as she read it, it burst into flames. And then she and Mum spent the entire rest of the day shut in the study, whispering about-'

'Wait a minute,' Al interrupted. 'How do you _know_ all of this?'

Lily smiled, tossing her long, red hair arrogantly. 'You have your Hogwarts, I have mine. Everything in this house, I know like the back of my hand. All of the lines of sight, the best places to stick an Extendable Ear, the most shadowy alcoves to listen from, which doors are best to listen at, and every single floorboard that creaks. Nobody has time to look after me anymore, so I find ways to entertain myself.'

James swallowed, that sounded very like a certain dark-haired friend of his who loved to sneak about.

'As I was _saying._ Mum and Ginny spent all day talking about that pre-Hogwarts educational course they have been looking after. No idea why, but they sure were excited about it. It's not Ministry-controlled, something, something private venture, something, something recruiting. That's really all I got out of it.'

'That's weird. So she's quitting the Ministry to educate children? Why?'

'Don't know. I told you everything I could put together. I think- _ow!_ What have you got in here, bricks?'

Lily was massaging her head where she had just attempted to lay back dramatically. James' heart skipped a beat.

' _Wicked Whimsies… Grey Magic._ James, what in Merlin's name is _this?'_

'Nothing,' he hastily snapped, lunging over to grab at it. Lily deftly jerked it out of his reach.

'James, that sounds… _illegal,'_ Al whispered. Of all of them, Al had always seemed the most reserved when it came to breaking the rules.

'Just wait 'ill Mummy hears about _this.'_ Lily's smile was devilish.

'You _can't_ tell her. It's something I need, something for school. It's for those advanced programs, like Enchanting. It's for Enchanting,' he desperately hoped the lie stuck.

'With a _Ministry Contraband_ stamp across the front? I doubt that.'

'Come on Lily, _please.'_

'Kids, dinner's ready!' Ginny's call came from downstairs.

Al took off out the door, eager to be shot of the tense situation. Lily was twirling the end of her locks innocently. 'I won't tell,' she finally stated. James sighed in relief.

'Thanks, Lil.'

' _However,_ should I decide I need your help with anything in the near future, I hope you'll be certain to give it. Otherwise I might just _forget_ and mention it over Christmas dinner.'

James stared, outraged. She was _blackmailing_ him? Her own _brother?_

'What the hell, Lily? No way, I'm not going to be your slave.'

'Oh Mu-mmmy!' Lily began skipping towards the door.

'Fine, fine! I'll do it. Shut up already.

Not a single word was spoken all through dinner that evening.

James and Al took advantage of the lone fine day leading up to Christmas, spending it outdoors, tossing around a makeshift Quaffle. The sun was hanging low in the sky, failing miserably to trim the fangs of the biting cold. A faint dusting of snow adorned the tops of trees lining the small valley behind the Potter household, in which the children played.

Lily came to join them, wrapped in far too many layers to sit comfortably on a broom. She contented herself with smacking Muggle tennis balls at the boys to catch, using a sort of wide, stringed contraption that Uncle Ron had come home with one day. It was evidently used by Muggles to hit the tennis balls directly at one another at alarming velocities. James still couldn't get his head around the mad things they did in the name of sport.

'Nice one, Al!' James cheered, as his brother pulled off a spectacular catch between the trunks of two great oak trees. 'We're going to be awesome with you on the team next year.'

'I wouldn't be so sure of that,' Al replied, gesturing James down to the turf for a break. 'Diana still has another year at school. She'll probably make captain.'

James screwed up his face. Diana had been far from reliable over the past few years. If they could only get a Seeker like Odette… he quickly forced her out of his head.

'And besides,' Al continued, 'who says I even _want_ to be on a team where you and Preston Lynch are the Chasers? I'd rather try dance with a Devil's Snare.'

James' expression hardened for a moment, and he cast his eyes around the yard. 'You haven't had any more problems with Lynch, have you?'

Al merely shook his head. James could see him biting the inside of his cheek, a tell-tale sign he was lying.

' _Al!_ What did he do this time? I swear when we get back I'll-'

'Do nothing. That is what you'll do.' Al's tone was firmer than it needed to be.

'Don't be ridiculous. If I catch him again I'll Hex his brains out. Fred's got this paste, that if you rub it on-'

' _Enough!'_ Al screamed, throwing his broomstick aside. Lily scampered over to investigate the commotion.

'I'm just trying to help you,' James snapped, fed up with his brother's stubborn refusal of assistance.

'No, you're not. You're trying to tell me what to do. You're trying to tell me what James Potter would do, except that James Potter has no idea what he'd do because he's the most popular, coolest kid in his year.'

'Exactly! So let me get my friends-'

'No James! You just. Don't. Get it.' He punctuated each word by stabbing James in the chest with his finger. 'I'm not you; I don't want to _become_ you. James' Potter's way is not the only way. I'm not a baby, James. Let me solve it my way.'

'Your way?' James was yelling too now. Their voices thundered about the silent copse, startling animals nearby into panicked flight. 'Your way is sitting around, letting everyone bully you like… like some sort of _coward._ '

James barely saw Al move, but the next thing he knew, he was reeling backwards, the sharp tang of blood flooding into his mouth. He tripped, falling flat on his back. The verdant canopy above him wheeled for a moment, and the only sound was Al's angry footsteps stamping all the way up to the house.

'I'm impressed.'

James spun; he had forgotten that Lily was still with him. She offered him a hand up, a calculating expression on her face.

'I don't know what you're talking about,' James lied.

'Of course you don't, brother dearest. I bet he didn't even know he had it in him.'

James stayed silent, working his tender jaw. He spat a mouthful of bloody phlegm onto the ground.

'Mum knows pain-relieving spells, right?'

'You don't deserve it.' Her smile was warm, the words not meant unkindly. Her eyes glittered in the dappled sunlight.

Together they walked back to the house. The pain in James' jaw vastly overshadowed by the grief he knew his hurtful words would have caused.

 _This had better work, Holly. I wasn't cut out for being a Slytherin._

There was an air of dissolved tension around the Potter household come Christmas day. In stark contrast to the previous year, where the adults tenuous grip on their employment was beginning to slip, everyone seemed much more relaxed. Harry was now the only one still working for the Ministry, and by all accounts they were still brick-walling him at every turn, but his complaints now seemed more off-handed and light-hearted than the frustrated grumbles of the summer past.

Ginny had spent almost the entirety of the holidays thus far in constant communication with Aunt Hermione, either via floo or owl, or simply by disappearing for an hour or two here and there, leaving the run of the house to the kids. This suited James just fine, and he spent the majority of these free hours snooping around his Father's study, hoping to stumble across his secret cache of files, but with no such luck.

Hermione, Ron, Rose and Hugo arrived on Christmas day around lunch time, in what appeared to be a very luxurious Muggle motor vehicle, which Ron had not owned a week ago.

'Merlin's beard,' Harry exclaimed upon seeing it. His face was split into a broad grin. 'I should have got into the education business, hmm?'

James saw Aunt Hermione blush a little as she hugged Harry. 'Ron's being going on for _years_ about how he's always wanted a car. Honestly, I'd have thought he might grow out of it.'

'Bloody brilliant, isn't she?' Ron roared, giving an eye-rolling Ginny an exuberant kiss on the cheek. She'll do nought to sixty in four seconds flat. There's a six litre, V12 engine-'

'I'm not sure when he turned into Arthur,' Hermione interjected, her voice full of mock-exasperation. 'It's like he took one sniff of petrol and all the Muggle craziness burst forth.'

The adults turned and headed indoors, laughing merrily. James smiled. They should have quit the Ministry long ago.

By the time dinner rolled around, the entire family was present, and, for the ones who were of age, also quite drunk.

'Tell us again about your Quidditch game Jamesy,' Ron roared, swigging from a foaming mug of Butterbeer.

James caught Teddy rolling his eyes. It was the third time already that the family had been forced to sit though the tale of his exploits on the pitch. Teddy was in a foul mood, having been drunkenly arguing with a petulant Victoire for most of the afternoon. She had stormed off halfway through the entrée. Teddy looked as if he had a mind to join her.

'It's the arm strength,' Ron assured him, once James had finished retelling his story, again. ' _This_ is where the real magic is.'

Ron pushed up the sleeves of his jumper, flexing a pair of rather sizeable biceps and laughing like a child. 'Isn't that right, honey?'

Hermione, her cheeks flushed from the effects of the alcohol, merely smiled into her wine glass, biting her lower lip playfully.

George made a series of fake retching sounds. 'Alright big boy, keep it in your pants. Say, Ron, let me get you another drink?'

It had been many and more years since anyone in that room had accepted an offer of a beverage from George Weasley. Today was not going to be the day that streak was broken, as Ron deftly slid the pitcher aside, into the vacant seat beside him.

Dinner wound down, with Hermione more and more frequently checking her watch, and then shooting Ginny some very pointed stares. Eventually, they excused themselves, hurrying off in the direction of Harry's study.

This was the cue for the rest of the adults to retire into the lounge, leaving the younger generation sparsely populating the gigantic table in the temporarily-Expanded dining room.

'So Teddy, how have you been?' James asked into the yawning silence, eager to snap his "brother" out of his foul mood.

Teddy just shrugged noncommittally, peering over at the door once more.

'Where have you been?' Lily asked, that burning ferocity in her eyes that James knew meant she was genuinely curious. 'I haven't seen you around home in _forever._ It's so lonely by myself.'

Her kicked puppy look was enough to get Teddy to speak. 'I've been doing a few jobs for Dad- for Harry lately. Running a few errands here and there, extended trips around the place.'

'Are you helping him track the Desecrator?' James asked.

'What? Who told you that? That's none of your business. Even if I was, I couldn't tell you. The stuff we're doing… well, it's pretty vigilante, I guess.'

' _Wicked,'_ Fred breathed.

Just then the door opened, and a huffy Victoire strode in, her cheeks flushed from the cold outdoors. She favoured Teddy with a frosty glare. She managed to somehow reprimand him through the mere act of sitting down, angrily pulling a full pitcher towards herself and taking a large, defiant swig.

The very same pitcher that George had offered Teddy not ten minutes ago.

Fred was toying very fixedly with his dessert spoon. He seemed to be battling a recurring wave of aggressive hiccups, or it could have been fits of laughter. 'So, Victoire. How was your walk?'

Her expression mellowed somewhat and she opened her mouth to speak-

Emitting nothing more than a very loud, very wet and _very_ protracted farting noise.

She clapped her hands to her mouth in mortal embarrassment. The entire table around her burst out laughing, including, much to his detriment, Teddy. Victoire pickedup the pitcher, upending it's contents all over Teddy, attempting to scream what was no doubt an extensive list of profanities at her boyfriend. All she managed was a repeat of the horrendous farting noise.

Teddy held his hands up, opening his mouth to do the same – and producing an identical result. A loud _crash_ halted the laughter for a second, as Domenique had toppled off of her chair in mad fits of laughter. Victoire stormed out in a rage, Teddy desperately dashing after her.

Ginny darted back into the room to see what the commotion was, subsequently noticed a very hysterical, incredibly drunk Dom still rolling with hiccupping laughter on the floor, and decided that it was time to wrap up the celebrations. Within a whirlwind half hour the house was emptied, the children in bed, leaving only Harry and Ginny still patrolling the desolate corridors.

Two dark figures huddled around a single lamp linked arm in arm. Ginny's head rested on Harry's shoulder. Two sets of eyes strained in the darkness to discern the contents of a single sheet of parchment. Minutes stretched before a single flare of light signalled an end to their vigil. Silently, they padded upstairs, and then all was still on Christmas night.

The following day was slow to start around the Potter household. Lunch time was fast approaching, yet James found himself with only his father for company around the dining table. Harry was nursing his head, and had so far drunk four cups of coffee. He was mostly communicating in hoarse grunts.

Al tramped down the stairs around eleven, but turned upon seeing James and stomped back up to his room, slamming the door and causing Harry to wince. James followed his brother with his eyes, lost in thought.

'How did you do it, Dad?'

'Hrmph?'

'How did you always know the right decision to make? When you were back at school, fighting Voldemort and Basilisks and Death Eaters, how did you know you were doing the right thing?'

'What makes you think I knew at the time? Merlin, what makes you think I know _now?'_

'I- you _won,_ didn't you? You're famous now, there's peace. You beat him, when nobody thought you could. Everyone says it was supposed to have been impossible.'

Harry Potter was silent for a long while. He drained half of his coffee mug before answering.

'Sure, we won. We beat him, and if I had to do it again I would. But there was rarely ever any _certainty_ involved. In fact, the only things I knew for sure were the bad decisions I made. For seven years, I stumbled through everything that was thrown at me, dragging Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione along with me. There were times – a _lot_ of times – when I felt like I couldn't go on, and it was them who were dragging me.

'The part of me that made those decisions wasn't something rational. Maybe that's a Gryffindor trait, I don't know. It was primal, a desire, a _need_ to act, to do _something_ because if I didn't then I felt like the world – _my_ world – would burn.

'Only when the dust settled could I look far enough to see the blood that was on my hands. And none of it was mine. Only then could I look back at the destruction left in the wake of my _action._ The bodies whose eyes stared so accusingly. Only then did I truly know that this was because of me. There was my certainty. But I was the only one who could stop it, and too soon it would be time to act once more. Thus, we three would stumble on, dragging one another forwards, never realising that the mire through which we waded was watered by blood.'

The grim monologue had chilled James. Seldom had he ever heard his father speak like this – of the regrets and darker times from his childhood. Mostly, it wasn't mentioned at all. Those were times past – an entire generation away – and those memories were not to be brought forth to taint this sanctuary of hard-won peace.

'So you would advise doing nothing?' James asked.

'I would advise _you_ to do nothing, James, yes. There is much that is coalescing in this world at the moment, but you do not carry the same curse as I. You are not the only one who can solve this problem. The Wizarding World does not need another hero, least of all one with the name of Potter.'

That notion upset something childish within James, that desire that every young boy possessed to be just that – a fabled hero of lore – another Harry Potter.

His father saw this and continued. 'You do not need to be a hero James, you do not _want_ to be a hero. For the moment that you acquire that label, you lose all sense of worth. You are no longer an individual. Everybody will know you, yet you will be the most faceless man on the planet. Your identity will be gone, they will take it all from you, blindly brandishing you before themselves in terror like a torch in the night before a wolf pack.

'And once the pack recedes they shall tell tales of how brave they were, standing in to fight against all odds, and an entire people will pat themselves on the pack for a job well done, while a faceless man bears all the scars of a generation. No, James, commit the heroes to memory, and leave them there. Ours was the generation baptised in the blood of war, so should it return, make sure you leave the sacrifices to us. Merlin knows, we fought hard enough for this peace the first time around.'

'You don't have to do it by yourself this time, Dad. You're not alone.'

'I know James, I know. We're better prepared this time, we're making certain of that. That's not my concern. My worry – my greatest fear – is that it should somehow fall to _you.'_

'I want the Cloak.'

' _What?_ No way, Lily. No a chance, I _need_ that. Dad gave it to _me.'_

'You begged Dad for it for two whole years until he caved and agreed to _lend_ it to _all_ of us.'

'I did not! Besides, I don't even have it with me – it's at Hogwarts.'

'Well then what's _this?'_

Lily reached behind the cushion on which she sat, drawing forth the silvery, mercurial fabric with a flourish. She pirouetted, draping it over her shoulders like a ball gown.

'What the _hell!_ Are you insane? Put it away! Dad said it's a tool, not a toy. He'd be furious if he saw you prancing about like a child.'

Lily ignored him completely, prancing back and forth across James' bedroom, studying herself in the full length mirror, marvelling at the way that only her head was showing.

'I've never worn it before. It's so light, like wearing a soft breeze.'

'Take it off, Lily. Now. You're _not_ having it.'

'Funny. I thought that book might have meant a little more to you.'

The simple statement chilled James. 'You wouldn't dare.'

'I would and I _will_ if you don't give me the Cloak.'

'It's not happening. What use would you have for it here? Dance around like a silly child with a floating head? I actually _need_ it, Lil. Hogwarts is _dangerous_.'

'Don't be ridiculous, Hogwarts was dangerous for Daddy. _You_ aren't the Chosen One, there's no evil Snake-Lord out to steal _your_ soul.'

'There might be.'

Lily gave a very un-ladylike derisive snort. 'Don't be ridiculous. If there's anyone who's secretly prophesied to be a hero it sounds like that Rain girl more than you.'

'How do you know about her?'

'Aside from the fact that you hardly ever shut up about her when you're home? Daddy says things… To Mummy, to Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione. The way they talk… it must have been like how they were back at school, saving the world. Daddy has notes, things in his study that he keeps hidden. He has meetings that he holds, where I'm sent to the far side of the house and told to play with my toys. People come and go all the time, just think about what I could discover if I had a better way to _hide.'_

Upon that last syllable, Lily tossed the Cloak over her head, disappearing entirely. James looked around for her wildly, shuffling over to the door, in case she tried to throw it open and bolt.

'It's still not happening, Lil,' James growled firmly. She wouldn't _really_ tell Harry, would she?

'A pity,' came her voice, sulky. She threw off the Cloak entirely, brushing past James and out the door. Out on the landing, she turned to face him. 'You know what they say about us Potters, always true to our word.'

Before James could even respond, she was gone, but not before she had flashed him a glimpse of the book, clutched tightly in her little hands.

Ginny had been furious – at least to start with. She had reigned herself in mid-thundering lecture, taking a series of deep, calming breaths before continuing much more calmly. She spoke at length about the dangers of possessing such a book. The dangers it posed to him, and to the entire family. She tried to step around the subject as much as possible, but James gathered that having the eye of the Ministry fixed their way – and especially a sanctioned Ministry raid on their property – was _not_ something that the Potters would invite at this current time.

Somewhere along the line, while James had been engrossed in chasing phantasms through the halls of Hogwarts, his family had changed from _being_ the Ministry, to being firmly against it.

Harry looked like he aged ten years in the minute it took Ginny to explain the find to him. He sat down at the dining table heavily, head in his hands once more. The gaze he turned on James wasn't angry… it wasn't _anything._ He, too spoke about the dangers of the book, and of illegal magic. He spoke in a flat monotone about friends who had tried to dabble in experimental methods when he had been at school, families who had tried dark and desperate means by which to throw Voldemort off their trail. Nearly all ended in painful deaths.

James sat through it all, squirming continuously. _Just yell._ He willed his father. _Get it over with._ This flat disappointment was too much too bear. The way that Harry seemed less disappointed in James, and more in himself, as if, by the act of James possessing this book, it had condemned Harry to watch his son repeat his own mistakes. And less than a week after having their previous talk at this very same dining table.

James was confined to his bedroom at six o'clock for the remaining three days of the holidays. He was fed, given attention, allowed free use of his broomstick and all his books, but every time that Harry met his eyes, James was awash with a fresh wave of guilt. He felt as if a schism had opened up between them in that one short instant, and try as he might, he couldn't quite span across to reach his father's grasp.

Even worse, he knew he had to steal the book back.

He knew where his father would keep it. In his study – the same place where he had kept the Marauders' Map. James knew, because he had spent many late evenings sneaking in to that very same study, attempting to activate the map and gaze longingly at the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. Perhaps there was something perverse in slinking around, yearning over the artefact of four dead men, but it had been as a drug to James for many a long night, hoping that this time, this _one_ instance, something might be different, that the magic hadn't died with the creators, and the map might _live._

The opportunity presented itself on the eve of James and Al's return to Hogwarts. Teddy had arrived, initially wearing the face of a grizzled old man. He whisked Harry away on some urgent business, the only clue he offered was that Harry ought to "bring a raincoat." Ginny had rolled her eyes and kissed Harry farewell, before yelling at the kids to make sure that they were ready for dinner in a half hour.

In his haste to leave, Harry had left the door of his study unlocked, and James – donning the Cloak within the confines of his room – slipped out onto the landing, padding silently on socked feet down the stairs and through the cracked door, into his father's private quarters.

This room had been one of the greatest mysteries for James as a child. Whenever Harry was stumped, or working on a delicate case, he would retire to this room to sit, ponder, and decide. The door was usually locked, and the children were allowed in only on special occasions. The first time James had seen it – with its low ceiling adorned with weathered timber beams, the fire crackling within a modest hearth, and bare, panelled wood adorning the walls, with only a scant few portraits for decoration, he had felt a sense of disappointment. This was the room of magic, the room where the world's problems were solved and the greatest mind on the planet came to mull over matters, outlining his secret plans for catching the latest villain.

James had spent a lot of those visits trying to peer out the corner of his eyes for a magically hidden door, or a secret false portrait that led into the real private quarters. The rooms where Harry must practice his duelling with a dozen Aurors, and fight Hungarian Horntails without a wand, where he scaled giant mountains and swum down to the depths of the deepest seas. The room where a child's imagination was the only deity, and its power of creation was endless.

Nowadays, James knew that the true magic was held within the brain of his father. That behind those unassuming green eyes and that earnest smile lurked the real brilliance. There was no need to fight mock-battles and slay foes as practice. Not when the real monsters lurked within oneself. And Harry had a way of seeing those demons, the faults and flaws in every single adversary that he had put away over the years. The one tiniest detail of hubris, the single chink in their armour. The way he stared, those green eyes suddenly so piercing, peeling away hastily constructed barriers, a true x-ray stare, from which nothing was secret.

James shuddered involuntarily beneath the Cloak, his socked feet whispering across the plain, threadbare rug as he moved from the shadows into the flickering light that illuminated his father's desk among the darkness. All the windows were shuttered, only the one desk glowed, lit as if by a light from the heavens. His passage was silent as he approached, his eyes hungrily drinking in the private scene.

Papers littered the mahogany table top – perhaps the very same that James had seen scattered so haphazardly about the lounge. The writing was tiny, cramped. That of his father, when his brain worked too fast for his hands to keep up. The script was almost a code in itself, so difficult was it to read. As James pored over them in the light of the single flickering oil lamp, he cursed his luck.

Titles, words, entire pages faded before his eyes – _beneath_ his eyes. The words gone, even as he struggled to comprehend them through the messy scrawl. He tried desperately to catch a word, a phrase here or there, but the magic – the defensive spells cast by his father – was ever a step ahead, and soon the entire table was littered with naught but blank sheets of parchment, like so much scrap.

A crash from the kitchen caused James to start. He heard his mother yell a few curses that might make even Freddy blush. Half of his time had elapsed, and he hadn't even begun to hunt. He tugged the Cloak down around his shoulders and began riffling through his father's drawers.

The items he found in the drawers was mostly banal, worthless tedium. Bills, stationery, a few old photos from Harry's school days that had copies framed out in the lounge. None of these were Protected, and James sifted through them with mounting frustration, having to force himself not to slam the bottom draw shut after it drew yet another blank.

He whirled to face the matching cabinets beside his father's desk. His final hope. He _needed_ this book. He wasn't sure why, yet, but it just felt so important. Luna wouldn't have gone to the trouble of acquiring it had it not been a vital piece of the puzzle in dredging up his memories from the end of first year.

Three draws were thrown open – all three full of those tantalizing, Hidden works – and James was reaching the end of his patience. He heard Ginny setting the Dining table with cutlery. He checked his watch; five minutes until dinner was ready. His pace increased. The fourth draw revealed the same, except… as he shuffled to the bottom of the stack of papers, he began to fathom a few words, slow to fade. Nothing of note, mostly single words, prepositions and conjunctions – certainly nothing to gain a meaning, but enough to pique his curiosity well and truly.

The fifth and final draw, he threw open desperately as his mother called the children down for dinner. He breathed a loud sigh of relief – there, sitting atop the pile, was the book. He snatched it hastily, working free the cover from the text. He heard Al and Lily laughing as the skipped down the stairs two at a time. Ginny would be calling him again any second now. A quick strip of Spellotape down the spine of an old Herbology textbook, slid snugly into the old Grey Magicke cover. His father would find out, surely, but it ought to buy him enough time at least to get the book back to school, and safe.

The bundle of loose parchment went into James' jacket pocket, and the fake Grey Magicke book back into the draw. James froze – where the Book had been sitting, the writing on the stack of parchment was still visible. It was fading before his eyes, but only very slowly. He snatched at the pile, riffling through the sheets hungrily. _Old Blood Kidnappings… Arithmancer Disappearance… Wizard-Trafficking_ … James took in the titles briefly, before one sheet in particular snatched his eye.

The sheet was easily readable – typed, not in his father's hand – he snatched at it fervently, ignoring his mother's calls from without.

 _St Mungo's Patient Admission Record – 12_ _th_ _June 2016_

 _Refer document 213(d) Sections 5-17 for patient previous record. Note volatility of patient's magical core_

 _Patient admitted directly from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Several minor cuts and abrasions, possible blunt force trauma to cranium._

 _Extensive damage to magical Core – immediate examination recommended. Core appears vastly empty, flux tethers sustained heavy damage. Curiously, tethers appear juvenile form, no more than twelve months old. Heavy influx of foreign magic partially filling Core Void. Suspected forced injection from external source. Stage four hostility between foreign body and host Core. Advanced deterioration of host Core already detected – dissolution around margins._

 _Recommendations: Immediate examination and operation. Chance of extraction of foreign body unlikely, ramifications too dangerous. Attempts will be made to seal off the infection before it destroys the patients magical core. Violent removal could lead to a rapid release of magical energy of devastating power. Patient will be advised this illness is deemed terminal. Anticipated life expectancy: six years._

Wave after wave of chilled terror swept over James. He didn't even hear his mother's increasingly frustrated shouts. The date, the description, it all added up. The remainder of the document had finally faded before him, all save a tiny scrawled word at the base of the page, this time in his father's writing: _Transferral._

He had no idea what that meant, had no idea what ninety percent of the document had meant, save for a single line. _Six years._ She'd barely finish Hogwarts. Odette's words rang out in his head, mocking: ' _I've never talked to a dead woman before.'_

The sound of his name snapped him back to reality, and he dropped the sheet as if burned by it. If only he could forget it, if only it had never existed at all. A sickly black scar, a terrified look, a girl waiting to die.

James fled from the room, wishing for all the world that he would never have to set foot in it again. He knew what he had to do.

Farewells the following morning were hasty, the Potters were leaving with the George Weasleys, as both Harry and Ginny had work to attend to. James went through the rounds of hugs, making sure to leave Lily until last.

He pulled his sister in tight, lingering over the hug, nestling his face into the tangle of long, red hair at her neck. He pressed his lips to her ear, 'My room, under the mattress. Find out what they're up to.'

They shared no more words before pulling apart, and James felt Lily's eyes on him through the long, stretched moments up until his living room disappeared before him in a cloud of ash and green flames.


	16. Chapter 16 - Blankets

'James, look out!'

James ducked just in time, as something small and fiery zipped through the space where his head had been not two seconds ago.

'We'll get you, Potter!' came a vengeful cry from amidst a group of Hufflepuff second-years as they turned and fled, the element of surprise stolen from their attack.

Fred was finding this _hilarious._ 'I can't believe the entire school thinks it was you!'

James scowled, gingerly feeling the top of his head and the few singed hairs that the projectile had left him with.

'Well, considering that he was the _only_ student in second year to keep his hair, one can't help but to assume that he had something to do with it.' Cassie was looking a little harried after the latest near miss, their fourth of the day. She was holding the previously-flaming scrap of parchment at arm's length, pinched between two fingers.

James snatched it, pressing it flat atop the table they were gathered around. It bore a crudely drawn stick figure labelled "Potter" being struck repeatedly by lightning, whilst a badger, a lion, a snake and an eagle looked on, laughing.

'Well I should say that their sentiment is fairly clear,' Cassie sighed in exasperation. 'How are we going to get _any_ study done?'

'Wait a minute,' Fred lunged in and snatched up the drawing. 'Who drew _that_ on the badger?'

'Give me a look- _eww!'_

'Is that even what it _looks_ like?'

'It's longer than the snake!'

'I see you like my artistic prowess.'

'Tristan that was _you?'_ Fred gasped. 'Aren't you, you know, supposed to be on _our_ side?'

'Tansy McKendrick was going around the common room asking if anyone wanted to add anything. I saw an opening. I'm as much on your side as the rest of us, just think of me as your… secret informant. Like an undercover Auror.'

Holly scoffed. 'Well then, _secret agent,_ what is everyone saying?'

Tristan shrugged, reaching for the parchment and incinerating it with a gleeful twitch of his wand.

'They want to murder James.'

'Well _they_ should know that I had nothing to do with it,' James protested loudly, as a group of Slytherin and Ravenclaw second-year girls glided past. Annecke skewered him with a frosty stare, stroking her long, blonde hair protectively.

'You guys believe me, right?'

Fred smirked, Cassie _tsked_ , Holly just sucked on the tip of her braid, as if daring James to take it from her again.

'Billywig sting?' Cat offered, holding out her hand. She was currently levitating about a half-inch above her chair, her face a mask of unfocused bliss.

' _Focus,_ Kattala. How many of those have you had?'

'Erm… Tuesday?'

Cassie dropped her forehead onto her open textbook in melodramatic exasperation.

' _And_ we have to get out to the Lake, to talk to the Merfolk again. I'm sure you're all aware of the Wizenagmot Sitting that was held on the subject of the Treaty over the holidays?'

James was aware of no such thing.

'Well luckily for you, I drafted a brief summary of the proceedings, and outlined the key takeaways from the session.'

She drew forth a stack of parchment a good inch thick from her bag, dumping it unceremoniously in front of James with a depressingly solid _thud._ It appeared that the two of them differed markedly on their opinion of _brief._

'Why me?' James groaned. 'The first time I went in there I almost got killed, then I nearly drowned with Professor Meadows. Can't someone else have a turn?'

'I can be a Mermaid!' Cat exclaimed, giggling with mad glee. She was now floating entirely off of her seat, pretending to swim in mid-air, her mouth making repeated fish-like movements.

Cassie stared pointedly between Cat and her own leg, currently bandaged from hip-to-ankle in thick, white gauze. She had fractured it terribly whist skiing over Christmas, and through a stroke of terrible misinterpretation, the Swiss Medi-witch had attempted to _remove_ all of the bones from her leg, rather than _heal_ them. Thus, Cassie had been undergoing a rather painful recovery through the first week of term.

James _tsked_ in his best Cassie-voice. Who would even _create_ a spell that could do that?

'Fine, I'll do it. At least Kal doesn't want to murder me.'

In truth, James was glad for the chance to escape the castle, a chance to get some time alone with his thoughts. A period of time where there was absolutely no chance of seeing, or accidentally bumping into-

'Rain!'

He jumped clear off his seat, nearly overtaking Cat's level of elevation. ' _Where?_ '

'Outside, you dolt. That's where the rain usually comes from.' Holly was looking at him like he was a complete idiot, her back now flush up against the steamy glass, fat droplets hurling themselves against the panes without. The faint sound of the howling breeze occasionally rose over the dull murmur of their study room.

He breathed a sigh of relief. A full week back at school and he had managed to avoid anything resembling a conversation. He just didn't know what to _say._ How could he even begin to go about it? Suffocating nightmares of expanding inky blackness, shot through with desperate screams and an ever present sound, as of sand rushing through an hourglass, had kept him awake all week.

He couldn't even go to the others about it. He'd almost spoken to Cassie several times; he wondered if she knew already, she was closer with Rain than anyone. He couldn't expect Freddy or Tristan, or even Clip to take it seriously. Cat had spent the entire week out of her mind on Billywig Stings, and Holly… there was something about the way she collected and hoarded secrets, the way she measured them, weighing each word, judging value in their potential revelation that was just a touch _too_ Slytherin for James' liking.

And so he had kept his peace, even as it ate him up from within. Even as, whenever his eyes fell upon her, a careening, dizzying feeling of terrible loss punched the air from his lungs. For he had seen her reaction when Odette had revealed that scar in front of a crowded train, when she had said–

 _I know your secret._

Or on a warm, late-summer's day less than a week later, when Odette had called her a–

 _Dead woman._

James pushed himself up from the table, eyes unfocused, straining to recall those conversations. He ignored his friends as they now clamoured around Cat, who was bouncing gently off of an ornate, crystalline chandelier.

Odette must have known, but how?

 _Aunt Mia works at St. Mungo's…_

That was it! His dislike and distrust of Odette had pushed it from his head; he'd never willingly go and seek her out, although now… Perhaps her Aunt had had access to Rain's file, and had blabbed something about it to Odette. It likely wasn't every day that they St Mungo's bore witness to something so dark and malignant as… whatever this was.

Odette could have read the very file that James had seen in his father's study. Perhaps her aunt had given her more information, perhaps Odette understood it better than James – so little had made sense beyond that fateful final sentence. He couldn't even begin to work out a solution if he didn't yet understand the problem.

Whilst his friends were distracted by a belligerently buoyant Cat, James slipped out of the study wing, for once desperately keen to bump into his usually least-favourite Slytherin.

He found a group of her usual acquaintances in the library; a gaggle of third- and fourth-year Slytherin girls, gathered tightly around a table without a single book open. Their heads were huddled in conspiratorially, their discourse a rapid-fire oscillation between hushed whispers and gleeful giggles.

They were only too happy to direct him to an obscure corner of the library, infamous for containing the least exciting books known to wizardkind. They bade him a hasty farewell so as to get back to their nattering, making him promise that he would hurry, so as not to miss her.

He offered them sincere thanks – he never would have thought to look there – and hurried off, his train of thought struggling to coalesce into the questions to which he needed answers.

Hunched over students and whispered conversations were soon left far behind; the torches were more and more rarely alight, and the overwhelming musty smell of old parchment assailed James' senses. He squeezed between a particularly narrow gap in two bookshelves, frowning at the coating of grime and dust now clinging to his robe.

'Odette?'

He could mostly make out a rather lumpy outline in the gloom beneath a shuttered window, the only light in their small clearing was leaking in through its rickety fittings.

There was a flurry of movement, a whispered curse. James eyes adjusted to the dim light – she wasn't alone.

'J-James? Is that you? _Darling,_ what can I do for you?'

Her study partner, an older Hufflepuff – fifth year, from James' memory – looked like he wanted to hit James with an _Avada Kedavra_ right there. A large book was upended in his lap, although it seemed far too dark to be able to read, and both their hands were out of sight besides. Curiously, both he and Odette were covered in a thick blanket from the waist down, in spite of the fact that even in this remote corner of the library, the temperature was kept toasty warm.

Suddenly nervous, with a rather burly Hufflepuff gesturing with his head to _get the hell out of there,_ James stumbled over his words. 'Erm… sorry to interrupt your study. Are you busy?'

'Nothing that I won't interrupt for you, my love.'

She pushed herself up, wiping her hands on the blanket as she did so. The Hufflepuff looked as if James had just kicked his Kneazle.

'Same time tomorrow then, Derek?' she purred silkily to the red-faced older boy.

'Fine, but next time you better make sure I-'

Odette darted over to James, clapping her hands over his ears.

'-as well.'

She led James away with a flippant assurance to the now dejected Hufflepuff. She casually laced an arm around James' back as they wended between the looming bookshelves, humming quietly and looking very pleased with herself, as if she had expected James to barge in on what had clearly been a very important study session.

'Sorry for interrupting,' James muttered. Her tutor had looked furious.

'Worry not my shining Snitch, I… had already got what I came for.'

She led him out of the library, giving her gathered friends a sly wink as they passed, eliciting a round of what James could only imagine were jealous glares in response.

Her arm around his waist was making walking a little awkward, and James stumbled twice as they mounted the staircase up to the fourth floor. No few stares were headed their way, and the whispers hidden behind hands were only made more obvious by their attempted concealment.

Finally they arrived in a small room, not much larger than a broom closet, but which had a window that overlooked the tumultuous surface of the Black Lake. Compared to the dingy library, the brilliant sunset was providing the pair with ample light, and tiny motes of dust danced suspended in mid-air between them, as they took seats on the two upturned buckets clearly meant for that purpose.

While James formulated a plan of attack, Odette opened the window a crack, letting a gust of chilly air permeate the room. Her cheeks bore a healthy flush. Her hair was in uncharacteristic disarray, and today was coloured the same gleaming white as the snow dusting the distant hilltops.

'James, darling, usually you attempt to hide your burgeoning desire for me by acting as if you despise me. Why now the secret meeting, spiriting me away mysteriously. I must admit, my heart is a-flutter with anticipation.'

He hated the way her honeyed words always left him confused, mind reeling trying to unpick her sentences and toss away the lascivious propositions. 'I need to ask you a question,' he stated, deadpan.

'For you, James, I am all ears. I'm all of anything you could ever want me to be.'

 _Ew._ 'What- what do you know about Rain?'

Glossy lips lost their upturned smile. She turned to face out the window for a long, tense moment. Finally, she sighed, and her voice lost all jest, the posh accent disappeared entirely.

'I wondered when you'd stop hating me enough to come ask.'

'I still hate you. But I- I need to know.' He spun her the story which he had fabricated on their trip up there, about how he had come across Rain's file whist visiting a family friend in St Mungo's.

'Gryffindors make for such _dreadful_ liars, but I digress. I'm afraid that I know little more than you, James. Assuming the report that we read were indeed one and the same. Someone or some _thing_ tried to take our little red-headed princess and pump her full of nasty magic. What that magic was, or why, or who, or any of the other million questions that this engenders are, alas, still a mystery.'

'But I thought you said your Aunt-'

'I know what I said. The witches and wizards of St Mungo's don't exactly go about sharing that type of information freely though.'

'Can't you ask her for something extra; she is, you know, _family_?'

'No.'

'Well why not?'

'I just _can't_ , okay?'

Her voice broke toward the end, and James knew enough to not press the issue.

'Look, all I know is that whatever it is that they tried to pump into her, it's bad – real bad. And it doesn't agree with her. From what it sounds like to me, it's going to tear her apart from the inside out, and there's little left to do to stop it.'

She stated that far too matter-of-factly for James' liking. Perhaps coming to Odette had been a mistake – she and Rain had hardly seen eye to eye. Suddenly cross at Odette's flippant dismissal of something as precious as Rain's life, James pushed back his bucket and got up to leave.

Before he managed to get out the door, Odette called out to him in a tiny voice.

'James, have you ever given any thought to if we _should_ try and save her?'

James whirled, one hand on the door. His eyes blazed, a wave of rage built up within his chest, desperate to spill forth. 'How could you even _say_ that?'

His voice barely rose above a threatening whisper.

Odette looked down at her feet, worrying her lower lip. When her eyes met James' there was no hint of the self-assuredness at all.

'D-do you not think there's something _off_ about her? Something that's not quite right? The way she looks at you, like she could suck your soul right out through your eyes – like that's exactly what she _wants_ to do. Her complete lack of emotion, whatever the _hell_ it was that she did with the water that day… I just- I have a bad feeling about her, that's all.'

James stared, incredulous. 'So what, you think she's the next Voldemort? You listen to all those other nasty rumours, do you? Like some scared first year in the Forbidden Forest, every sight and sound you can't make out is a sign of danger. She _must_ be evil because I don't like her, is that it?

'Or is it because she doesn't run around fawning over everything you say like that pack of laughing hyenas you have trailing around after you? Is it because maybe, just for once, Odette _bloody_ Mansfield isn't the most interesting thing happening at Hogwarts. I bet-'

'James, _stop!_ Please, that's not what I mean!'

'It sure sounds a lot like it.'

James was seething. He _knew_ it had been a mistake coming to Odette. He should have known her stupid, petty little hatred of Rain would make this a bad decision. He wished he could take it back, cast a memory charm on them both and forget it all. He hated the thought of sharing something this private, this _personal_ with Odette, it made him feel dirty. He spun to leave once more.

'When Rain was at St Mungo's, Aunt Mia wasn't just in the ward, she _was_ the Chief Medi-Witch, charged with healing her.'

James froze, halfway out the door.

'Aunt Mia stayed with us while she was working, because we live nearby. She worked almost the entire day, every day, sleeping maybe an hour or two each night. She never said much to me, but I overheard her talking to Mother once or twice, and she was _scared._ '

The door closed behind him, James crossed his arms, gesturing for her to continue.

'She said she'd never seen anything like it. There was something _alien_. Whether it was in her, attacking her or possessing her I don't know. She said it fed on magic, and the magic it fed on it turned into _more_ magic, like impossible amounts more. So much that she didn't know how one body could contain it all, she was certain that any day, she was just going to explode, and level half of London with her.'

James could feel his jaw slackening, his ire eking slowly away as fascination stole over him.

'She said there was one thing she could do – she never said exactly _what,_ only that if she was found out she would be banned from practicing ever again, but it was the best hope, perhaps the only hope, for Rain's survival.'

James was about to force her to continue the story, before he saw the pale glimmer of tears beading in the corner of Odette's eyes. A heavy anchor suddenly tied itself to James' heart.

'She never came home after that, she probably never will. They say she burnt herself out, flensed the magic out from her very soul by whatever procedure she had performed on Rain. It does terrible things to a witch, James, tearing their magic away like that. Aunt Mia just lies in a bed in a ward now, staring at the ceiling, and every night when she goes to sleep she can't stop screaming.'

'Odette, I'm so-'

'And do you know what she said, when she came to? The very day after Aunt Mia… after _it_ happened, Rain woke up. They told her what had happened. "Only one?" That was her response, James. _Only one._ As if she had _known,_ and she was disappointed, like she was worth more than that. And so, when I saw her on the train I wanted to kill her, right there. I wanted to jam my wand into that stupid scar and blast her full of every nasty spell I knew, and to hell if it blew us all up.'

The tears were flowing freely now, leaving dark runnels marring otherwise-perfect cheeks. 'You don't understand the darkness that takes over you, when you think you could realistically end someone's life, right there. You're right not to forgive me James, but at least now… well, now you know.'

James didn't know what to say. He took half a step towards her, his mind cartwheeling out of control, but she gestured to the door, unwilling to make eye contact. His dismissal was clear.

Out in the hallway he needed a few steadying breaths before making his way to the Gryffindor common room for the night. Just how deep did this rabbit hole go?

A highly suspicious run of illnesses and Cassie's leg taking an extraordinarily long time to heal meant that James got lumped with the Mermaid liaising well into the third week of term. He didn't mind so much, as the Poseidon's cloak that they were provided kept him dry, and Kal always kept the water much warmer than the frigid January air whenever he came to visit.

They rarely talked of the treaty – much to Cassie's growing frustration – but instead spent long hours exchanging pleasant small talk. James learnt that Kal had a young son, that she loved to make art with seaweed, and that she had travelled as far as India. In turn, he told her of the things they learned in classes, and tried in vain to explain the concept of flying, and Quidditch, which, to a water-bound being was much easier said than done. She had even once told him a joke about a Marlin and a lonely Mermaid that would make even Tristan blush.

He didn't know why he thought it odd that a Mermaid should have a sense of humour, as if the love of laughter and storytelling was restricted only to humans. That the Merfolk were an intelligent species was not even a question, they were clearly deserved of the status of a being, despite their reluctance to accept the mantle.

They were easily as smart as humans – smarter than most – Cassie argued. So why should _they_ be forced to sign _our_ agreement? Wizards, in their great conceit, forcing the Merfolk to accept their terms, offering them a deal with little tangible benefit, while withholding crucial rights from the species should they choose not to sign.

In the world of muggles, there was nobody, nothing to challenge their claims of superiority. As far as they were concerned, they were the only intelligent species around. Wizards, Cassie explained, were in the unique position to be knowingly sharing the planet with several other species of equal intelligence, who clearly deserved equal rights. And yet, as evinced by the treatment of House Elves over millennia, fair play was not something wizardkind was ready to engage in.

Kal usually brushed off the suggestion of signing the treaty flippantly. "A chattering brook thinks itself of great import until it runs out into the sea," she would say, but today her demeanour was a little more grim.

'There is unrest among the clan, spawn of Harry Potter.' She floated before James, twisting and contorting in the water, always moving. Her hair fanned out in an aura above her head, her myriad necklaces shifted and clattered together, making an odd knocking noise beneath the waves.

'The outcome of the Wizenagmot session held over Christmas?'

'Aye, it clouds the waters and stills the currents, leaving a stagnant taste in my mouth.' She twirled her tail gracefully. If she were a human, James thought, she would be like Fred, unable to sit still. 'We are threatened, James Potter, and our attackers have become so bold as to make their presence known within the very Castle grounds-'

'The spear…'

'That should never have been allowed, but they broke through our defences momentarily, enough to leave a lasting, solid imprint of their magic within the school. They threaten the same once more, but with more malicious consequences, and your Ministry refuses us aid.'

' _What?'_

'They refuse to let the course of our rivers flow as one unless we sign the treaty. They will offer us no assistance, even as our tribespeople are slain. Thus they say it is _us_ who puts you all at risk by our refusal, that this is _our_ fault, and should these forces break through and threaten your livelihoods, the blood will be pooled at our feet, and retribution will be enacted.'

James was appalled. 'But what _are_ these forces that are attacking you?'

'It is old magic, forgotten magic. Tell me, young smolt, do you still possess that scarf?'

'You're avoiding my question _again_.'

'I am answering it I my own way.'

'Yes, I have it.'

'And the friend who gifted it to you? She is the one we have spoken of just now, she of the insidious infection and the dappled heart?'

'Well, I haven't spoken to her in a while, as I mentioned…'

'But you still bathe in the same waters, no?'

'What? Ew- no! Oh, wait, yes we are still friends. I think.'

'The currents before me are clear in this; now is not the time to reveal either secret to you, but I will tell you this, in the hope that it will not muddy the waters between us. As you say, your friend suffered an incident, the cost was likely her life. You tell me something within her is feeding on the magic of her life, and that it will destroy her from within. That there is nothing you wizards can do to stop it.

'And I tell you this, James Potter. That the only way to damn the flow of her life may be to give that terrible curse something else to feed on, a powerful source of magic that it can taint that is not her own. I tell you this also, that not far back upstream, a grievous and misguided attack was made upon an ancient and sleeping civilisation, an entire peoples' soul ripped from their bodies. They want it back, spawn of Harry Potter. They seek desperately for the core of their magic, a magic that has kept them hidden for longer than the sea has borne waves, a magic whose imprint lays heady and thick upon that very scarf.

'The friend who seeks to take you as a spawn-mate is right in questioning the heart of the dying girl, I should ask that you do the same. But make sure, as you gaze into that inky blackness, that you do not let it swallow you whole, for all the time you stare, it will be taking the measure of you in kind.'


	17. Chapter 17 - Riot

'James- whoa!'

 _Crash._

'What the- Leah?'

'Yes, hell- _ooo,_ your potions partner, I'm _only_ trying not to get us all blown up over here!'

A small hole in the centre of their table was smoking gently around the charred edges. Shattered glass and tiny flecks of Activated Quicksilver twinkled atop their work surface from where she had slapped the vial away. The air smelled sharp and bitter, singeing the back of James' throat.

'Erm… oops?'

'Oh James, you're so _silly!_ Here, let me.'

Leah slid in uncomfortably close and prised the wooden stirrer gently from James' grip, managing to run her fingers in a soft caress over the back of his hand in the process. She hummed brightly to herself, tinkering and stirring while James stared blankly forwards.

The Expansion Exsolution they were brewing was about as technical and precise as potions came for the second years, and was characterised by a rapid, warm rush of mauve-coloured steam when heated to the exact temperature. The only problem was, this steam, if even slightly out-of-kilter was liable to induce an abrupt loss of inhibitions and impair control of bodily functions. As it were, there were more than a few dreamy-eyed, slightly drooling students dotting the classroom already, earning themselves the sharp end of Professor Ellfrick's wand and tongue alike.

James' thousand yard stare, however, was more of a six yard stare. It reached all the way to the backs of his friends before him. Cassie, her auburn locks arrayed neatly around her shoulders, and Cat, chewing subtly on yet another Billywig sting, smacking her bright-orange painted lips. But it was the curtain of red-gold hair at the desk in front of him that locked his gaze in a grip of iron. He watched the dim torchlight set it aflame, a thousand hues of bronzed fire shimmering across that silken surface.

His very dead, very evil friend. Depending on whom he talked to. Which, currently was no-one, as Odette had refrained from her usual unwanted injections into his life, and Kal was flat-out refusing to see him. Four weeks into the term and still they had shared barely more than a series of awkward-

'Hello.'

'Eck- Rain! Erm… hello.'

She had spun gracefully around on her stool to face him, hands folded in her lap, legs crossed. She wore a tiny perplexed frown, and in the low light her eyes seemed a dull slate grey.

'Do I look so scary to you James, that you would recoil from me so? You risk upsetting me and I do not feel like crying today.'

Even through his reeling shock, James still had time to find the picture of Rain crying odd. 'No! You are- erm, you look… nice?'

Leah scoffed beside him. Rain shot her a withering glare.

'Your voice says nice, yet your eyes tell a different story. I should very much like to know what is running through that enigmatic brain of yours James Potter.'

' _Doesn't take Veritaserum to work_ that _out,'_ Leah hissed, just loud enough for Rain to hear.

'Nothing! Nothing at all! It's just… y'know, you're _you._ Sometimes you're… startling.'

The warmth evaporated from her eyes faster than a perfect Expansion Exsolution.

'In- in a good way!' James scrambled to add. Too late, she had already turned around, very pointedly ignoring him. His heart raced, and a bead of sweat slid down his spine.

'Insulting her biggest insecurity, James. That's bold even for a Slytherin. Now I _really_ want to know what she did to upset you.'

'Nothing Leah, never you- _Ow!_ Did you just pinch my bum?'

'Wasn't me. Might have been a Nargle. Here, add this to the potion and we're done.'

James took her word for it, and she stepped well clear, miming for him to gently sprinkle the final ingredient, which looked like ground Stardust, into the cauldron. He leaned over the rim, carefully adding it in, pinch by pinch. Professor Ellfrick had been _exquisitely_ clear on-

 _Whoosh!_

A thick, choking rush of pungent brown smog washed over James. He cried out in shock, feeling it like viscous air forcing itself down his throat and in his nose, stinging his eyes. His arms flailed about wildly, his feet kicked the corner of a table, pain lanced up his leg as he overbalanced, falling headlong towards the cold stone floor.

He awoke to, like, a _hundred_ heads all crowding around him. Their mouths were moving, making funny noises. Their eyes, brimming with concern, were _gigantic._ So big that he thought he might fall in. Imagine that! Falling into someone's eye – what a silly notion.

A bubble of laughter rose to the surface, promptly followed by another. The faces all around him seemed to frown as one, which was just _hilarious._ Wave upon wave of giggles assailed him, as he struggled to point up at all their astounded faces. How could they not _see_ how _funny_ they were?

James kept right on giggling until he couldn't breathe any more.

'I need a wee,' he announced to the room. Here was as good a place as any. He scrunched up his face, concentrating on-

'No, no, no James,' a figure rushed into his field of view – someone with _normal_ sized eyes, speaking _actual_ words.

'You're _tiny_ Cassie. Did you know that?'

'And you've just inhaled a lungful of psychedelic-strength Exsolution Steam, because _somebody_ spiked the potion to backfire in your face.'

His hand shot up into the air.

'Erm, yes James?'

'Ooh, I know this one! It was Leah!'

'Yes it was me,' Leah cried, leaping up onto their shared desk, kicking aside their spilled cauldron. 'And let it be known that the Great Retribution upon James Sirius Potter has begun! For the crime of em-baldening the entire second year, we hereby sentence you to death by pranking! Or, you know, at least until you cry and admit it was you, or something.

'The Lenders have sworn ten Galleons to anyone who can successfully prank him, and one hundred Galleons to whomever can make him wet his pants-'

'Ooh, ooh, I can do that now, watch!'

James screwed up his face again. A hundred Galleons was a _lot._ He could buy a year's worth of sweets from Honeydukes with that.

'Not so fast,' Professor Ellfrick swooped in, jabbing her wand at James.

'Eep!' he cried, as it felt like something was sucked back _up_ into his stomach area. He no longer needed a wee.

'Get down Ridley you silly girl, twenty points from Gryffindor and a week's worth of detention. Weasley, Wallace, take Potter to bed. He needs to sleep it off for the evening, and for the love of Merlin keep him away from these other idiots.'

She gestured behind her, to where Leah was stood in the centre of a ring of students, chanting and performing some sort of tribal dance, the hood of her robe pulled up over her head. James giggled, hopping from foot to foot as if to mirror her, poking his tongue out at her accusatory stare.

'Protect the Potter!' Fred cried, leaping to James' side. 'Rally, to me, to _me!'_

A cluster of bodies suddenly pressed up against James, to the point where he was crammed in between four of his friends, barely able to move. The pressure on his bladder was bringing back a familiar sensation…

Somehow, someone had produced a _flag_ from somewhere – red with brilliant golden lightning striking a pair of black spectacles – it had been magically fastened to Clip's back, who was busy tugging James by the arm to get him through the door.

'Rain, are you coming?' Cassie called out, shouting to be heard above the rest of the class, all of whom were now engaged in a ritualistic war dance, complete with shrill, harsh chanting. She merely shrugged, stabbing James with a look that managed to cut through even his current hazy fugue.

'She makes my heart feel funny…'

'Now isn't the time for _love_ James- _Imminuum!'_

'I can't love _her,_ she's already dead.'

James' statement was drowned out in the hellish charge that the rest of the class erupted into, wands drawn and faces wild, even so, he failed to see his red-haired friend stiffen in her seat, or the terrified, frantic stare she shot after him.

Out in the dingy dungeon corridor, the shadows loomed menacingly, twisting and contorting into menacing faces behind the torchlight. The steady drip of water clattered about in James' skull as if it were an incessant march of footfalls, seeking him, _hunting_ him.

Blinding flares of light shot over their heads, spells hurled their way by the charging students. Panic rose within James as he began to make out faces, teeth, serrated and jagged, eager to tear into his soft flesh, wands – no _knives –_ in their hands, seeking to slice him up. He squealed in fright, trying to break free of the four who surrounded him, but he felt firm hands wrench him back.

'Stay with us,' Fred grated. He had a single purple eyebrow, and one side of his face now looked as if it were made out of wood. Sweat slicked the rest of his regular skin, shining in the evening light as they emerged onto the ground floor.

The group darted up the Grand Staircase as the wild Mob broke into the daylight, wincing back like the dank, feral savages that they were. A blossom of fire, James cried out as a giant _dragon_ swooped down upon them. Fred bundled him up once more and they tore off, barely keeping ahead of their pursuers.

Spells continued to rain down upon them, Cassie lost most of her robe on the second floor landing, as someone transfigured it to glass. She shattered it, causing a thunderous crash as loud as a thousand bells in James' head. Several students stopped, unable to cross the magical glass, having forgotten their shoes in their haste.

They were halted in the third floor corridor, as a group spilled out of a classroom directly ahead of them. Clip and the flag darted down a corridor to the left, but James was yanked to the right. His group froze, the students before him froze. Those behind him were screaming their way up the staircase.

'Potter!' Someone cried from the crowd.

'Retribution!' cried another.

'For the em-baldening!'

'Rally!' Cried Fred.

Clip desperately tried to dash across the corridor, and James looked on as no fewer than a dozen spells collected him at once. When the dust cleared, all that remained was a gigantic purple sofa, easily twice as tall as James. He clapped excitedly, it looked so _soft_ , he _had_ to sit on it!

'No!' growled Fred, yanking him backwards, but it was no use; they were in a dead end.

His three remaining friends formed up before him, wands lowered, chests heaving with laborious breaths.

'Don't worry James,' Fred growled.

'We'll protect you,' Cat assured.

Cassie turned to give him a shaky smile, looking the most battle-crazed of the three.

'So _tiny,'_ whispered James.

The crowds clogged up the only exit, a thousand hooded students, looming as tall as Dementors in James' eyes. He could hear the doomsday music as they approached; the deep, reverberating drumbeat of their footsteps. James cowered back, shrinking as far into the corner as he could. They were blocking out the light- all the light. His breaths were coming short and sharp, leaving his brain dizzyingly short of oxygen. Shouts began to grow, light flared, then more and more, like an entire _sun_ before him. He shrunk back in terror, his mind frozen.

An explosion rocked the hall, _things_ flew everywhere; bodies, vases, paintings. James half- _whooped,_ half-screamed in terror. His ears rung violently for a moment. He was _hot_ all of a sudden; he removed his robe, and then his jumper, followed by his shirt. He kept his tie, however; Ginny would be _furious_ if he lost that.

His defenders rose from the dust on shaky legs, a single figure was striding towards them, wand levelled.

'T-Tristan?' In between the ringing in his ears, he heard Cassie's relieved cry. She rushed to embrace him, but he was all action, bundling them all through a false tapestry down a polished slide, down and around and down…

The dizziness left James' brain rattled, and his memories became fogged, blurred, eccentric and wild.

There was a forest of golden trees with grabbing, snarling vines tearing at his bare skin, tangling eager fingers in his hair.

A giant eagle, the size of a horse, swooping down from above, flattening them all on the staircase, crying out for James' blood in a chilling screech, raking talons reaching down to whisk a squealing Clip up, up, away-

A ledge, over which he desperately clutched at Cassie's hand, seeing the fear in her eyes as he could hold her no longer, her sweaty, slicked palms sliding out from his own, watching her fall and fall, her final scream ringing accusingly in his ears-

Stumbling into a pit of snakes, snapping and biting, their fangs glistening wet with venom. They wended their way around Fred's body, dragging him downward into a slithering, writhing abyss, a look of defiance on his face until the very end-

A wall of water, flooding the entire corridor, rushing onwards towards them, gathering them up and tearing Tristan away, extinguishing his ever-burning flame as his grey face floated away out of James' reach-

Stumbling, screaming, yelling, a familiar portal, a warm, welcoming light, stillness reigned loud and ringing in James' ears, fighting to be noticed over the rush of blood.

Faces turned to him, loomed vast and overbearing in his vision, he shrank back, eyes darting around desperately. Where was his vanguard, his valiant defenders? Where were his friends?

He could see anger growing now, movement among them. They were going for wands! He frantically searched for his own, realised that he now wore only his underwear, and was completely devoid of pockets, let alone a means of defence. Footsteps, a figure approaching, he stepped backwards, stumbled, right into the arms of-

A familiar face. Cat, crouching down to meet his eyes, shielding him from the view of his would-be attackers. She was grasping his chin firmly, tilting his head upright and mouthing a series of words, over and over.

'Suck it out James, let me suck out the poisonous gas.'

'Huh?' James' jaw slackened in his confusion, and it was all the opening Cat needed.

She swooped down, locking her lips with his own, firmly forcing his mouth open. He felt something – her _tongue_ – slide into his mouth, and a wash of thoughts he had never thought he would think crashed over him for a fleeting second, before she pulled back. A sharp, acidic taste was burning on his tongue. Cat released him from her grip and he staggered forward a step, falling to his knees.

His legs weren't working. _Why weren't they working?_ He pulled his tongue out with his hands, desperately clawing at the biting, stinging pain. His saliva dripped purple and thick on the carpet. He looked up to see Cat standing over him, gleeful anticipation on her face like a child opening her first Christmas present. He fell onto his side, the rest of his body following suit in its grievous betrayal. He looked up at Cat with hurt eyes, his vision tunnelling. The last thing he remembered was the sensation of slipping into a nice warm bath, and remembering that wee he really needed…

'Oh _Merlin,_ my head hurts.'

'Psst, Clip! He's awake.'

'Fred? Wha- where am I?'

'In your bed, little Miss Tinkle.'

'Huh?'

'You don't remember? Oh this is going to be _great…'_

'So _that_ is what happened? I don't remember any of _that.'_ They were descending the Grand Staircase, approaching the Great Hall for a much-needed breakfast. A lingering headache refused to let James concentrate, try as he might to shake it off; they had a match today against the Hufflepuffs which he'd need to be ready for. If their last meeting was anything to go by, there was a good chance he'd get some playing time.

'You were a little… out of it,' ventured Clip.

'So the entire year _wasn't_ chasing me down like some wild fox?'

'Nope. Preston Lynch and a couple of his cronies tailed us all the way up, but it was mostly just to scare you. It seemed to work…'

'The golden forest?'

'We took a detour through the Trophy Room to try lose them. I think you were shirtless by that stage.'

'Huh. The giant eagle?'

'A first-year had let an owl out in the corridor, managed to leave me a present on my bloody robe. Clip toddled off to help the poor bloke round it up.'

'Well what about the snakes?'

'Honestly, you ought to bottle that vapour and sell it. Snakes? We ran into Holly, arguing with the Bitch Squad from Slytherin. I hung back to chase them away, you all carried on ahead.'

'So-'

'And there was _certainly_ no gigantic tidal wave,' Cat assured him. 'Tristan had to go to the bathroom. He said he'd erm… be a while.'

'But what about once we got into the common room. I could have sworn that you-'

' _No!_ ' Cat blurted out, a little hastily. 'Nothing at all, you just sort of… keeled over. And then, well…'

'I wet myself.'

'A little bit,' Fred winced.

'And… how many people saw?'

'Most of Gryffindor.'

'Marvellous.'

The group entered the Hall, and James instantly felt his ears flash with heat as a rolling wave of laughter rippled out from the students nearest them. He focused on the floor at his feet, ignoring the catcalls and jeers.

'Wait a minute, I forgot to ask, what happened to-'

 _Whump._

'James Potter you complete-'

 _Thwack._

'Utter-'

 _Smack._

'Arse!'

James tottered on the spot for a moment, finally keeling over and falling hard onto the unforgiving flagstones. He blinked stupidly up at Cassie standing over him, her chest heaving, colossal Dragon Book held aloft as if to smite him where he lay.

'Cassie?'

'Oh so you remember me _now?'_ she shrieked. A good section of the Great Hall had fallen silent, watching in gleeful amusement the crazy scene before them. 'Because last night was _really_ funny, wasn't it?'

'Cassie I don't-'

Tristan swooped in from out of sight, snaking an arm around Cassie's waist and whispering soothing words in her ear, gently easing the book from her grasp.

'Forgot to mention that,' Fred grinned. 'You _might_ have thrown her off of the fourth floor landing.'

' _What?'_

'Onto her bad leg-'

'I-'

'All the while screaming " _die tiny demon, die!"_ '

'Wow. Cassie I'm so _so-'_

'I don't want an apology James! After last night, I couldn't walk for _hours!'_

'Er, Cass,' Tristan tried to interject.

'I couldn't feel anything below my waist-'

'Cassandra, I think-'

'Just lying there by myself, moaning, thinking of you, and how you could _do_ this to me!'

Her voice was beginning to rise now, and a ripple of giggles was rolling through the onlookers.

Thankfully a benign figure swooped in and bundled James away before Cassie could begin another round with the Dragon Book.

'Honey, I don't think you're talking about what you think you're talking about any more.'

Lillian's firm, steady grip on his upper arm guided him past the far end of the table and out into the Entrance Hall. She grabbed a stack of toast on the way and jammed a slice in James' mouth.

'Why is it _always_ you, Potter? And how does a girl that tiny manage to put you on the floor like that? And what- are you wearing _lipstick_? Here-'

She _tsked_ in exasperation, reaching down to wipe away a brilliant orange smear from his lower lip.

Unfortunately, James' day didn't get much better than a beating over the head by Cassie. The feisty young Hufflepuff team blew everyone away as they pulled off the upset victory over Gryffindor, blowing the competition for the Cup wide open and handing the Lenders a serious haul in one fell swoop. Ryan could barely mask his disappointment as he broke down the game in their post-match meeting, before marching off to sequester himself away in his Captain's room and study the match repeatedly until he knew every single movement of every single player and exactly what they should have done to win.

The afternoon study session certainly didn't help improve anybody's mood. As it turned out, Cassie's leg had been in a critical stage of healing when James had – _allegedly_ – tossed her off the balcony. It had broken horribly, and after a frantic night on the part of Madam Petheridge, she was back to square one, her leg wrapped ankle-to-thigh in gauze, limping painfully whenever she put weight on it.

Between her sullen stares, James' moping over the loss of the match and the fact that he was forced to duck down every time a fellow second-year entered the library, he was well and truly at his wits end by late afternoon.

'I'm done,' he announced to the room, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. He began to pack up his quills and a woeful essay on the identification of the Monkshood plant.

'You can't just leave,' Clip cautioned him. 'You go out there alone and someone will turn you into an eggplant, or something.'

'Personally, I'm all for it.'

'Thanks, Cassie.'

'I'll come,' Fred volunteered, sensing his window to escape. 'Don't worry, I'll have a few surprises for anyone who tries to throw something nasty our way.' He patted his satchel bag ominously. It emitted a strange crooning sound.

Before anyone else could protest, the pair slunk out, James leading Fred through a series of progressively narrower passages, twisting the arm on a false suit of armour to open a narrow crawl space, up a tight, winding spiral, finally coming to a halt in a space barely tall enough for them to sit up in. They lay on their stomachs, peering out through what James knew was a portrait of a young wizard with Omnioculars pressed to his face. A little known fact that Nero had let on last year, was that the Omnioculars in the portrait were enchanted to allow anyone in the crawl space behind to peer out into the classroom, without anyone in the room being able to look back.

It was the perfect spot to hide and observe, particularly when Ryan O'Flaherty used this very room to analyse each and every play of their most recent matches.

Sure enough, the Gryffindor captain was seated atop a desk with his back to them, studying a bare stretch of wall onto which an image was projected, Charmed to play through the record function on a pair of real Omnioculars. James didn't need to see his face to tell that he was upset; his body language was hunched, his head shaking in despair as before them Lillian was collected in the side of the head by a Bludger she most certainly should have seen coming.

'Gatehouse,' whispered James. 'They should have reverted to Gatehouse formation when Hufflepuff came at them with Dust Whispers. It's the best defence and Will would have been there to stop that Bludger.'

This was James' game; analysing the plays in secret along with Ryan, racing his captain to come up with solutions or improvements to their gameplay. As a future Enabler, managing the flow of the game was to be his forte, and the best way to get a head start was to study it until he knew every single option, every play and counter-play, every formation and strategy and gameplan. And what better way than to put his wits up against the great Ryan O'Flaherty?

'Swinging Gate,' Fred countered. 'Same formation, but with the left flank Chaser pushed right up into the second quadrant. That Bludger doesn't take her, and you immediately transition onto the offensive with a numbers advantage up field.'

James thought about Fred's suggestion, as Ryan watched the several seconds leading up to the collision again and again.

'Too aggressive,' James finally decided. 'That left flank Chaser needs to pressure his Hufflepuff counterpart, otherwise even if that Bludger is stopped, they have free pressure on Lillian, and nobody is in range to pass to. We have the broom speed over Hufflepuff to make it up field ahead of them if we execute, but we need that extra Chaser back in the rear quadrant to keep pressure off Lillian.'

Fred frowned, James could see the cogs turning as he processed what James had said, he finally nodded, impressed.

The door to the room swung open, and the pair started, but it was only Lillian, arriving just in time to watch herself get smashed in the temple, a spray of spit and blood arcing out from her lips dramatically.

'You always manage to get my best angles,' she muttered sullenly. 'I still get a headache just watching it.'

'Should have called Gatehouse formation,' Ryan replied flatly. 'They were weak on the left. We'd have had a goal and you wouldn't have that bruise.'

'That's a goal for Potter!' James whisper-shouted in Fred's face, 'The crowd goes wild!'

They carried on their game, as Lillian and Ryan dove into the game-film. Much to Ryan's annoyance, Connor Flint had landed himself in detention once again, and so the two were forced to carry on together.

The day drew on and the sun's light began to fade. James stretched his lead over Fred exponentially in their game of guess-the-improvements. Fred was good, but the strategies he favoured were too high risk, something Ryan didn't believe in. James knew this well, having spent no few evenings tucked away watching their Captain stress over the most minute detail in their execution.

As the red-gold hues streaming in through the window faded to the liquid silver of a crescent moon, their progress slowed. Fred began to eat into James' lead as he became distracted by what the pair was saying outside of the Quidditch-talk.

An overly-loud peal of laughter, a friendly push on the shoulder turning into a gentle, familiar touch, probing questions deflected into awkward silences. This was the dance of two people skirting a gulf, a yawning chasm of the unfamiliar and uncertain. A leap of faith which they could make together, but one seemed forever terrified that the other couldn't – or wouldn't – follow.

Lillian would sit and massage Ryan's throwing shoulder, firmly working out kinks, running her hands up and down his back, or she would sit with an elbow resting up his other shoulder, chatting freely about anything from the weather to classes to what it would be like to go professional together.

But every time Ryan would turn and make eye contact – any time he acknowledged her gesture or word or touch – she would shrink back, suddenly uncertain, reeling as she fumbled for some banal comment on a practice schedule or possible tactic. This strange, frustrating game soon overtook the one of guessing Ryan's strategies, and Fred quickly grew tired as he overtook James in their scoring, the latter clearly no longer interested. He gestured that he was heading off to bed; curfew was soon approaching, but James waved him off. His imagination had been captured by this most intricate of dances, and he needed to stay to see something… _anything._

Their match had taken two hours and three minutes on Saturday, but this review was well into it's fifth by now, and not long after Fred left, James' eyes began to feel grainy, and wave after wave of yawns assailed him. Cramped up in the tiny crawl space as he was, he hadn't expected to get comfortable enough to doze off, but if he just lay his arm like so, and bunched up his robe, that might just…

He woke with a start some time later, he had felt as if he were falling into… nothing. Fred had been the one with the watch, and the only indication of the time elapsed that James possessed was the angle of the moonlight through the window, and the fact that it was silent in the room without.

James edged up to the peephole behind the painted Omnioculars, several hours must have passed at least, yet Ryan continued his vigil, re-watching the entire game in real time now, muttering to himself repeatedly. James' heart skipped – why, he didn't know – as he saw Lillian, fast asleep sprawled out on the tabletop, her head resting in Ryan's lap. Ryan's left hand stroked her hair idly as he watched, as if he wasn't even aware of his actions. James cursed his inadequacy, what had he missed?

What should have been an easy goal for Connor was sent wide, and Ryan couldn't stop himself from hissing sharply. Lillian stirred, pushing herself up sleepily. James' breath caught in his throat as the pair locked eyes. He could almost _see_ the tension between them – he just couldn't understand what it _was._ He could hear his heart galloping in his chest, as Ryan mumbled something unintelligible from this distance. Lillian gave a half-smile, steeled herself, and took the leap.

All of a sudden a cascading sequence of gears _clunked_ into place in James' mind, as before him Lillian and Ryan were kissing passionately, bathed in the shining argent pool of moonlight. The words from her father, _accidentally_ catching Ryan in the change rooms, myriad over-familiar touches and gestures throughout the year. This was what it truly was like to fancy someone, the whirlwind of emotion that buffeted and unlovingly cast aside ones emotions as they realised that their happiness truly resided in the arms of someone else, and in so doing, made themselves more vulnerable than they ever had. And, if the terrified gazes and uncertain, flagging confidence hinted at anything, it was that this was a love born and nurtured in uncertainty, halted by a crippling fear of feelings unrequited, staggered by the looming weight of the cost of failure, an unwillingness to venture out from this wild, uncertain reality whereby neither had said yes, or no, and so potential abounded and the promise of dreams called so sweet.

And here they were, taking the leap together. And they were flying-

'What was that?' Ryan's low growl cut menacingly through the still night.

James' heartbeat froze. He had scuffed his toe against the wall in his excitement; they must have heard the sound.

'Nothing,' crooned Lillian, gently steering his face back down to her own. James started at her pale, bare skin and soft, subtle curves in the moonlight. How had he missed _that_ development?

Their lips met for barely a second before Ryan pulled back, this time firmly. He shook his head, and James couldn't keep his breath from catching in his throat.

'Wha- what's wrong?' Lillian stammered, all of a sudden uncertain.

James briefly wondered how in Merlin's name he kept finding himself in these situations, an overbearing feeling that the conversation he was about to witness was going to be incredibly, seriously private. As Ryan's silence lengthened, Lillian visibly began to shrink in on herself, drawing an arm across to cover her chest, but unable to do more than just stare expectantly, _desperately_ at Ryan.

'I can't,' he finally sighed. 'No- I _won't._ Not now, there's too much to lose-'

'Don't give me _that_ Ryan. You can't-'

'I _can._ And I will. There's no other option. You know what's at stake this year. I can't afford to jeopardize it, not again. Not… not even for you.'

'Who do you think I am?' Lillian retorted, 'Isla Wilkins all over again? That was _years_ ago Ryan, surely- no…'

'What?'

'You haven't, have you? Not since Isla Wilkins in third year?'

'That's not important Lillian, and regardless, it's not going to start now. Not this year, there are scouts here almost every week, I'm getting Floo calls from teams after most games, Nimbus are offering me sponsorship deals… I can't afford to throw it all away for-'

'The possibility of happiness? Of for once loving something other than this damned sport? The opportunity to be _human?_ Take your pick. If that's how you feel, then fine. You're going to do it, you know? You're going to let this sport take you away from me after all these years. After I was there for you after Isla, after all the _hell_ we went through in fifth year, after – for the love of Merlin – I held your hand all the way down to the Quidditch pitch on your first day, because you were scared to go alone.'

'Lillian, please. I-'

'Have said enough, Ryan. I don't have the strength to fight for you, not this time, because I know I don't have a chance of winning.'

She was putting her clothes on now, running a hand through her long, black hair, tossing her head in frustration. She turned and strode out the door briskly, not once looking back, and so she did not see Ryan's crumpled face, or the way he stared at the door for the next full hour.

* * *

 _A/N: Damn it James, how is it that you always seem to end up in these situations? It's almost as if he brings a curse... Let's hope things turn out a little happier than last time around... Please review, and have a great Thursday!_


	18. Chapter 18 - Scarves

'A little consistency wouldn't go amiss, Tristan.'

'Ah, so says mother to father, on occasion.'

'Huh?'

'I said it's nice to win a game, on occasion.'

'Well could you not have won one against the Slytherins?'

'Don't look at me, _I'm_ not on the team. And besides, that thing Mansfield does with her robe every time she catches a Snitch… Well, that's almost _worth_ losing a match or two for, don't you think?'

Fred gave Tristan an exasperated shove. James felt how his best friend looked; Hufflepuff's untimely loss to Slytherin had the Serpents tied with Gryffindor for first place.

Tristan darted behind James, laying a hand on each shoulder and putting his lips right up against his ear. 'Can't you just feel her breathing down your neck?'

James shuddered involuntarily, squirming free of Tristan's clutches. ' _Gross._ '

'To date, James Potter, I consider you my greatest failing. Oh the things I'd do… alas! Until we meet again, friends.'

With that, Tristan smoothly snaked an arm around Holly's waist, tugging her in through a nearby door to their Magic of Hogwarts class. James carried on with the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws to Theory of Magic.

'You know that status report on the Mermaid project for Magic of Hogwarts that's due this week?'

'Ugh, don't remind me.' James' resentment earned him a stern huff from Cassie.

Fred held up a tightly rolled sheaf of parchment, banging it against the top of the desk as the group found their seats. 'Tristan's going to have a helluva hard time handing it in on time.'

James and Clip joined in on Fred's wicked grin. Cassie was trying to glare at all three at once, but merely doing a most outstanding impression of a bewildered goldfish.

Before she could begin reprimanding them, however, Professor Reedman strode purposefully into the room, an ever-effective method for hushing any latent chatter.

'Evening students, I trust you are well prepared. Page three-hundred-and-seventeen, thank-you.'

A mere handful of words, and the class was busily riffling through textbooks, nary a word spoken among them. Such was the indomitable will of Professor Howard Reedman. He strode among them, his steps deliberate, his gaze measured. Never a wasted word or gesture. Preston Lynch was trying to hold a whispered conversation with Odin Mills. The tip of a gnarled, knotted wand _clacked_ onto their desktop, a head jerked towards the door, and the boys were gone, scampering free without a single glance back.

'Magic!' boomed Professor Reedman. Precisely thirty-five minutes had elapsed, if the students hadn't read the chapter in that time, then it was to their own detriment. 'That which we learn, it is but the tip of the Unicorn's horn. Somebody tell me- yes, Miss Featherstone.'

'Magic is like a language, or like a dance,' Cassie tripped over herself to get the words out. James wasn't even sure this was the answer to Professor Reedman's question. 'It varies greatly across the world. Not just in the incantations and the wand movements, but the very foundations of an individuals' interaction with Magical Flux. In the Far East, for example-'

'Precisely, Featherstone. Ten points.'

Cassie beamed.

'And because we are British, our magic is created with the absolute minimum amount of fuss possible. We needn't have any sort of interaction last a moment longer than absolutely necessary, be it with a stranger or a strange, omnipotent force of nature. We have stripped the act of all art, all self-aggrandizing gestures, and most importantly, all expression. Thus, a simple spoken word and a flick of the wrist-'

Fred's bag was levitated off the floor in a heartbeat.

'-and the deed is done.'

The satchel crashed back to the floor, where it landed heavily enough to crack the tiles underfoot. Even the Professor paused in his monologue to frown momentarily.

'The Americans-'

A muted explosion, sounding like an entire _castle_ of Wildfire Whizbangs, emanated from Fred's bag.

'The _Americans-'_

The sound of a dozen angry Kneazles being trod upon by a stumbling giant hushed the professor once more.

'Erm, professor? I don't think that was a good-'

'As I was saying. The Ameri- _for the love of Merlin Weasley what have you got in that bag?'_

James wasn't certain, but he thought that last one might have been an actual Banshee.

Before Cassie went cross-eyed from excessive frowning, Professor Reedman wandlessly lifted Fred off his chair, and before anyone could say _"that's a terrifying prospect"_ Fred had disappeared _into_ his own bag, instantly silencing what may have been the dull roar of a female Nundu in heat.

'Finally. Now, as a nation once belonging to the British Empire, the American form of magic can be thought of as a haphazardly-imparted, subsequently-bastardised grandchild of our own British magic, half-heartedly integrated with the incumbent Native American System. As such, if an American Witch or Wizard were to – Founders forbid – appear in this classroom right now, you would very likely be able to discuss many of the same theories, spells and wand motions.'

James shot a nervous look over at Fred's empty seat, and the ominously-silent satchel bag.

'Relax Potter, it's not going anywhere.'

James' mind was hardly put at ease.

'But what about someone from, like, _India,_ ' Leah Ridley asked.

'Magic from the Far East is thought to have originated-'

'Can anyone who _isn't_ Miss Featherstone answer this one?'

Cassie visibly deflated.

'No. But I can do _this_ ,' Cat offered.

The class turned to watch as she drew a deep, shuddering breath, letting it out as a series of almost non-human clicks and chirps. She clapped her hands together once, banged the desk twice… and nothing happened.

'Ha!' Gemma chided. 'What even-'

 _Pop!_

Half of the class turned in shock to see Gemma Lewis now sporting a rather large, rather fluffy pair of snow-white bunny ears, hanging down below her shoulders.

Corvus Summerbee snorted derisively. 'You look like a-'

 _Pop!_

A giant unicorn horn sprouted from his forehead, growing larger and larger, drooping under its immense weight, beginning to look more and more like a-

'I should hope,' Professor Reedman began, a hint of trepidation in his voice. When nothing happened, he carried on more confidently. 'That you have at least been blessed with some measure of common sense, Miss Lovegood. Very well.'

Absolute silence reigned throughout the classroom. Every single second-year stared in a mixture of horror and admiration at Cat, who was chasing a spider about the top of her desk gleefully with the tip of her wand.

'A Puranas Voodoo Hex, of not insignificant power. Impressive, young Kattala. Ten points to Gryffindor. Class, note, if you will the peculiar vocal rhythm, the overt hand gestures, and lack of a wand. This is an old, old form of magic. No less powerful, perhaps, than a modern-day counterpart, aside from the fact that I could have cast seven spells and brewed a pot of tea in the time it took you to cast the one.

'Thus, you see. The British nation is one with a rich history of conflict, and so our magic has evolved into a style characterised by minimal fuss. Clinical in its efficiency, and dangerous in the lack of questions it in turn asks of the user. Can anybody else give me an example of a foreign form of magic?'

Absolute silence reigned.

'Cowards,' Professor Reedman chuckled.

The protracted silence from the students allowed the professor to wax eloquent – something he seldom did – on the many and varied ancient and foreign magical cultures. From the Mayans – their magic steeped in the power of Lifeblood, and now outlawed across almost the entire world, to the Ancient Chinese Arithmantic Codices – rumoured to contain the answers to every single question imaginable. He spoke of the magic of Myth, of that used by El Rey Dorado to found his golden Empire, the shamans of Bermuda who had warped the very fabric of reality back when magic was still nascent upon this earth, and of the rituals used by the mysterious inhabitants to hide the ancient and lost city of Atlantis.

'Alas,' he concluded – was that a tear in his eye? 'This magic seems lost to us all. Forgotten, warped in its passing-down so far beyond recognition until all that remains is but a pale imitation of these past glories. Compressed, feathered, expunged, and burned in the fires of war, forgotten. Those who held such knowledge were ostracised at best, eliminated at worst, until we are left with a series of generations whose most notable achievement is their consistent mediocrity. But I digress…'

All the while Rain was wearing an incredibly smug smile.

'It's the Siphoners,' Cat stated, matter-of-factly. 'The magic isn't _forgotten,_ only Siphoned off, removed from a book here, sucked out of a memory there, all so that these powerful spells don't fall into the wrong hands. Mummy has a full treatise on it: _The Temporal Travesty – A Beginners Guide to the Observable Effects of the Time-Travelling Siphoners and their Impact on Modern Society._ The title's a work in progress _.'_

Nobody dared speak up to counter her argument.

The class remained silent even as they filed out the door, not willing to take the risk. James lingered to pick up Fred's bag – and by extension Fred – finding it much lighter than anticipated. Cat approached him as he made to exit, 'Billywig?' she proffered.

'No thanks Cat, I-'

 _Pop!_

The entire Gryffindor second year dormitory vowed revenge on Cat for making them put up with an entire night listening to James snore in and out through the length of a full-sized elephant's trunk.

The following day Cat's usually moonlight-silver locks were a garish shade of purple, and she was in a most uncharacteristic sulk. Fred was flighty, his eyes darting non-stop, jumping at sudden movements or loud noises. He wouldn't say a word on what had gone on inside his bag.

'James, Fred, if you do not clean zis up zis _eenstant_ you will both lose ten points from Greefindor!'

Fred yelped. The pair shared a nervous glance as Victoire Weasley stormed out of the Defence Against the Dark Arts class that they had been about to enter. Images of raging firestorms were beginning to coalesce in James' mind.

'Somebody has got their wand in the wrong pocket,' Tristan muttered.

James guffawed loudly.

'Eez zat a _wand_ in ze corridor, Potter? Five points from Gryffindor!'

'It's only out because someone cast _Diffindo_ on my bag! Everything fell out, look!' he gestured to the mess of his quills, parchment and books strewn across the corridor.

'Backchat is a further ten points!' Victoire all but shrieked at them, striding past in a huff, her usual collection of hangers-on scurrying to catch up.

Bright, musical laughter rolled out of the door to their classroom, illuminating the entire corridor. Curious, James entered, his school equipment levitating along in a wobbly train behind him.

'"That's not where I put my wand!" Hilarious, Stokes! Bloody ripper!'

Zoe Meadows was all but doubled over in a fit of laughter, leaning on the shoulder of a seventh-year student for support. The seventh year looked rather quite pleased with his current situation, one arm around the professors back as she leaned into him, shaking with mirth.

'Now get out of here Stokes, before one of us says something that gets us both in trouble.'

Stokes looked a little deflated, but gladly shuffled out, emanating pure smugness.

'Potter!' Zoe limped over to him, clapping him on the back amicably, even going so far as to yank him into a half-hug. James wasn't even certain he was _allowed_ to hug teachers. Although Stokes hadn't seemed to have an issue… 'Bit of a ruckus out there, hey? But look at you, first one to class, have yourself, say… fifteen pointes for Gryffindor.' She winked slyly at him, steering him into a seat up the front of the class.

Before anyone else came within earshot, she plonked him down in his chair and leaned right across the desk to whisper to him. James focused on maintaining eye contact.

'Teddy sends his regards, as of this morning.'

'What? Where-'

'Can't say, strictly business. No time for… _pleasure_ , unfortunately, but he is well. Doing a spot of work for your father. It's incredibly secret, so mind who you tell. _Especially_ don't mention anything in front of Victoire, I fear the poor darling would be most upset…'

'Mention what in front of Vicky?' Fred piped up, sliding into the seat next to James.

Zoe winked again, reaching out to tap James' nose before whirling back to the front of the class.

'I'll tell you later,' James hissed. He added silently: _right in front of Victoire._

February melted away with the last of the snow high up on the distant mountains, but March brought with it a new brand of cold; a return of the violent storms. Gryffindor faced off against Ravenclaw in the midst of one such, a terrifying game made almost more horrific by the way that the superstar Ravenclaw Keeper, Aster Ogleby, stymied the Hydra's attack. Gryffindor narrowly pulled off the victory through Diana Fairbourne fortuitously colliding with the Snitch mid-air, managing to swallow it rather than catch it. This alleviated a little of the pressure off of the team, but no matter how many times Archie and Will MacDougal joking called Diana "The Swallower", James couldn't help but feel the tension mounting in the locker room, the chemistry between the legendary trio seeming to have evaporate overnight.

James thought he had a fair idea as to why.

Wren continued to present a burr in James' proverbial saddle. She would corner the group at the most inopportune moments, insisting that now was the hour, nay, the very minute to practice Enchanting. Over and over, the group sweated, cursed and grunted but to no avail. Clip fell asleep during the meditation stage three times in five lessons. Even Rain made no progress, or at least not that she told them. She had been noticeably cooler towards James of late. The sessions remained much the same for James, confusing visions of the eighth floor, sprinkled with burst of intense panic and the desperate need to help… _someone._

Always they ended with the presence of a shadowy, hooded figure. Always the figure was standing, watching, vibrant in colour against the washed-out backdrop of… whatever this fantasy was. Appearing so out of place, yet comfortable and in control. An unsettling combination.

It was after one of these frustrating sessions that James had planned to make his move. He hung back behind the group as they all filed out, massaging temples or muttering darkly. Rain was packing her parchment away carefully. Wren had left the room the moment she dismissed them. The pair were alone.

'Hello James Potter.'

'Hello Rain… erm, why don't you have a last name again?'

'I am Rain. That is all that I am.'

 _Well that sums that up then…_ James held out a hand in offer to carry her satchel bag. She frowned at him momentarily, then mirrored the gesture. Giving it up as a bad job, James turned for the door. Rain followed, linking an arm through his own as they made their way up towards the Entrance Hall.

They walked in silence for a while. At this close proximity, James knew it was a bad idea to make eye contact; he could feel her burning like a thousand suns wherever their bodies were touching. He kept his eyes focused dead ahead, trying to scramble together enough flighty thought fragments to form a cohesive sentence.

She plucked at the scarf wrapped around James' neck – her scarf. He had barely taken it off since she had gifted it to him.

'I'm sorry for what I said the other day, in Potions class,' he finally blurted out.

'You are James Potter. You are a leader, a Ruler. You need not apologise to anyone, even to me. Maybe sometimes _especially_ to me.'

James shot her a confused sidelong glance, had to clutch her tighter as he swooned under the heat of her gaze. 'I'm only one of those three things. I'm not a leader or a ruler of-'

'Not yet.'

 _Huh._ For a moment James pictured himself raising aloft the Quidditch Trophy, and the House Cup. Hundreds of students in red and gold behind him, cheering him on. He felt Rain's slender fingers dig into his forearm, and a wave of heat rolled off of her. The faces behind him changed, the Trophies disappeared, and instead it was a wand he held aloft. Fire swirled among brimstone clouds, every face was turned to him, no longer in appraisal but in subservience. He brought his arm down in a swift, chopping motion, cleaving through the air before him, bringing his wand level, and himself face-to-face with-

He shook his head to clear the vision. The rush he had felt had been terrifying. Yet, somehow it was also exhilarating. All that power, that adoration…

Rain was humming happily alongside him.

'Rain, listen, over the holidays while I was at home, I came across something in my father's study.'

'Oh?'

'It was something about you. It-'

'What is your greatest fear, James Potter?'

James blinked at the abrupt change of subject. 'Erm, I don't know… dying? I've never seen my Boggart.'

'Do you want to?'

'Well I hadn't really planned on doing either.'

They paused on the sixth-floor landing where their respective paths diverged. Rain eased free of James' grip, turned to face him. Her sea-green eyes burned fiercely in the dull torchlight. 'I can help you with both, James Potter.'

He couldn't help but stare into her eyes. There was nowhere else to look. He could feel the hot rush of her breath on his face.

'Do I get a choice as to which?'

'Meet me here a week from tonight, at midnight. We'll conquer one, for now. The other, that will come later…'

The last sentence she whispered directly into his ear, so close that he James could count the red-gold hairs on her head. He shuddered involuntarily as she spun and disappeared up the staircase, fading seamlessly into the shadows before she had gone more than a half dozen steps.

James stared at the spot from which she had disappeared for a long while. He cast his mind back, all the way to the Sorting in first year, and the way lightning had arced all across the roof of the Great Hall. Between the eerily realistic visions, and the vague yet ominous foreshadowing of their next encounter, this was easily the most terrifying interaction he had had with Rain yet.

It had been like she _knew_ exactly what he had been about to say, when he tried to bring up her time in St Mungo's. She had stopped him dead in his tracks, jerking the conversation in an entirely different, and utterly frightening direction. He began to traipse up the Gryffindor Tower, plodding along one foot before the other, trying in vain to untangle the knots into which she had contorted his mind. As it was, he nearly bumped into the broad chest of the figure leaving the Portrait hole just as he made to enter.

'Bit late for a midnight stroll, James.'

'Oh, hello Professor. I was just- just…'

'Merlin's beard, boy, you look like you've seen your own ghost.'

Before he knew it, James found himself marched a short way down an adjacent corridor, through an unassuming dark panelled wood door, and eased gently into a plush armchair. A moment of fussing and something was pushed into his hands. Hot, and sweet. He took a tentative sip, followed by a long draught. Steaming hot Butterbeer.

The drink sent a radiating warmth trickling first down his throat, and then throughout his entire body. He eased the scarf around his neck, relaxing in the chair, finally turning to see Professor Longbottom studying him patiently, concern evident on his face.

'So, do you mind telling me what's got you looking like Voldemort has been reborn and decided to introduce himself to you personally?'

And so he did. James, after so long bottling up this nagging, gnawing secret about Rain, finally let it burst forth. He told of the document, of her scar, of everything he feared that it meant for her and him and the fact that he seemed powerless. Unable – or, Merlin forbid – _unwilling_ to make any move to stop it.

And he didn't stop there. His glass was refilled again and again and James continued to talk. His frustrations with Al, his dislike of Preston Lynch, the vexing Odette Mansfield. It all came out as the evening waxed. Candles burned low, and by the end of it Professor Longbottom was himself cradling a crystalline tumbler of a dark, amber liquid.

When James finally finished talking, he pressed the mug to his lips, drinking deeply, suddenly embarrassed. His eyes skirted around the room and its cosy furniture. Professor Longbottom took one sip, then another. He opened his mouth to speak, froze, downed the rest of his glass, and raised his glance to meet James.

'I don't know what it is you Potters eat, but it turns you into magnets for trouble. Like you're living in some sort of a damned storybook or something.'

'That sounds terrible,' James muttered darkly. 'And besides, all the stories Mum used to read ended the same way.'

'Aye, that they do. Yours on the other hand… Have you ever seen a nest of Flobberworms mating?'

' _Gross.'_

'Exactly. I can't tell where one bit ends and another begins. Which end is the head and which is the… well, you get the image.'

'Unfortunately, yes.'

'What I will tell you, however, is this. Stick to your values. What is the most important thing to you within these walls?'

'My friends and Al.' James didn't even hesitate.

'But which is first.'

'I- Al is. Family first, family always.'

'What is one thing you want, more than anything else?'

 _Crowds surrounded him, and he could hear their collective breath catch as he arced his wand downwards. Their fervour washed over him, encased him in an armour so thick that not even the terror in the eyes of those before him could get through._

'I- I want to be like Dad.'

 _Do you, James Potter? Or is it merely your father's fame that you seek? That can be achieved a number of ways. I can help you conquer them all…_

He shook his head to clear it of Rain's voice.

'A courageous goal indeed. Few people on this planet would have a better idea of how to achieve that than you, James.'

 _I can help you achieve it and so much more…_

All of a sudden overheating, James jerked the scarf free from his neck, tossing it to the floor. He unbuttoned his shirt to let the breeze cool him. Professor Longbottom looked from him to the scarf. The tiniest hint of recognition sparked deep in his eyes.

Her voice was silent.

'Your values will be challenged, James. They will be bent and twisted out of shape. Sometimes by those closest to you. I cannot tell you how to solve each and every one of your problems; if this indeed is to become a story, then let it be you who writes it. My only advice is to ask yourself what your father would do, for if we each acquire a moral compass only as half as strong as his, then the world will be a better place indeed.'

James nodded, ruminating on the Professor's words. 'Thanks Professor, I needed that.'

'Don't be afraid to tell this to your friends, James. That's what they're there for. They'll help share some of this burden. You can't keep relying on the advice of a doddery old Herbology professor forever.'

James smiled as he waved farewell, closing the door softly behind him. He felt physically lighter, his steps buoyant all the way back to the common room. Already plans were beginning to form in his mind, the imagined, benevolent oversight of his father's conscience guiding him along.

Back in the office from whence James had just left, Professor Longbottom stooped down to pick the discarded raiment up off of the floor. He flinched back as he touched it. This close, the magic was cloying, and it was powerful. But beyond that, it was foreign. Alien, almost, like nothing he had ever experienced. He locked it in the drawer of his desk, not desiring to touch it for a second longer than needed. Already he was mentally preparing a letter to a certain eccentric individual, to get her back as soon as possible. He had the feeling that James Potter was going to need more than a simple book to keep these forces out of his head for good.


	19. Chapter 19 - Jazz

_A/N: Aaaand we are back, after an extended absence. This time I have no excuse and only apology to offer. The trouble with these shoot-from-the-hip stories is that they have a tendency for getting out of hand, and there I was left staring at the myriad threads of this story like the end of a frayed rope, with naught but tears and sweat to try and glue them together. But, we have muddled through, and here is the latest installment. Hopefully everyone can remember what is actually happening, as it's been so long..._

* * *

After a full day of classes, a veritable mountain of homework, and _seven_ lost house points, James _needed_ the second floor bathroom. It was his favourite in the whole castle, thanks in no small part to one of the more benevolent quirks in Hogwarts' magical architecture. If, between the hours of six and eleven in the evening on any given weekday, a student was to kick thrice upon the pipework on the second sink from the left, they would find themselves bathed in the soothing, lapping tones of classical jazz music, emanating from the very walls themselves.

When Rain was getting too _Rain-_ ey, Fred wouldn't quit making things explode, or if he just needed a break from Cassie's constant nagging about their Merfolk project, James would come and sit, sometime for up to an hour, letting the balm that was the music roll over him in waves. He would often practice clearing his mind, as Wren taught them for Enchanting, until he felt as if he floated on the very music itself. These were the only moments he truly felt close to achieving anything in that Founders-damned class. Wren's constant berating and belittling shattered any attempt at serenity he could otherwise conjure.

 _Ting, ting, ting!_

He shuffled off towards his favourite stall as the lights dimmed and the music sputtered to life. The monotony of his day still evident in his lifeless gait and stiff movements. Eyes to the floor, kick open the door, bag on the floor, unzi-

'Whoa, _Cat?!'_

The music hummed a merry tune as James fumbled desperately at his zipper. Meanwhile, Cat was perched gracefully on the edge of the closed toilet, for all the world as if it were indeed a throne, and this tiny stall her kingdom.

 _Zzzzii – 'Aiii!'_ James' scream was unadulterated pain.

Cat's serene look slid away, her eyes bulged. James desperately wished they would look _elsewhere,_ or she would at least _do_ something. The pleading look he shot her was brimming with tears.

'Oh my, James you've- that's not good at all – _Evanesco!'_

The pain vanished instantly, along with James' trousers. He hastily yanked his sweater down below his knees to cover his modesty, leaving him doubled over, with his pants-less backside exposed.

'What _exactly_ are you doing in the boys' bathroom, Cat?' James growled at her bright pink sandals and blue-painted toenails.

'Why, meeting you of course,' she stated, as if that were the most obvious and logical answer in the world.

Before James could respond, he heard the stall next to him flush and the _clack-clack_ of some very feminine-sounding shoes on the tiles outside. Somehow, he wasn't even surprised when the stall door opened behind him, and a voiced gasped in alarm.

'Oh James, if I'd known we were greeting each other in the traditional Bakhnean fashion, I'd have dressed accordingly.'

James blushed at Cat's wiggling toes as she explained the situation, in every excruciating detail. All of a sudden he felt his jumper tumble down around his ankles, and stood up uncertainly; he was now wearing some sort of scratchy woollen dress that hung down like the worlds' longest jersey, all the way to brush the tops of his shoes. It was awfully drafty and itched in some alarming places, but, he judged, better than the alternative.

It wasn't until this point that he realised that the stall – ordinarily barely big enough for a sole occupant – was quite comfortably housing all three of them. In fact, Cat was now seated cross-legged on a pouf, her bright yellow sundress arrayed in folds around her. There was no sign of the toilet at all, and just who had laid the black-and-white tiling? Or put in a _window_ for that matter?

Luna Lovegood strode across the room towards them, hugging Cat where she sat, and adjusting James' collar affectionately.

'That shirt is most becoming,' she said gravely, pulling out a delicate, wingback chair that had not been there a second ago.

She gestured for James to sit, and he enjoyed a half second of sheer, life-altering panic as the apparent stool he chose to reside on was, in fact, an illusion of the aforementioned toilet, with the seat still up. He shook his head in disbelief, instead perching gingerly on the edge of a comfortable, squishy and blessedly _real_ armchair.

'Erm… hello?' he ventured tentatively, eyes darting between mother and daughter.

'Hello James Potter,' Luna replied knowingly.

'People say that a lot.'

'Well, I'd be perplexed if they greeted you any other way.'

'Indeed. So to what do I owe the… surprise?'

James looked pointedly at Cat. Cat looked at Luna. Luna looked at the bubbling pitcher of something fruity that was now present to James' left. This was getting out of hand.

Cat finally broke the silence, as Luna seemed perfectly happy to attempt to fill her glass with the bubbling liquid, which appeared to have a habit of disappearing as quickly as she could pour it.

'Mummy wanted to meet you. She took time out from a holiday in Peru searching for Andean Mooncalves.'

'All expenses paid,' Luna chimed in, her eyes glittering at Cat, who smiled sheepishly.

'She said it was very important. Have you finished reading the book?'

James didn't need to ask to know just _which_ book she was referencing.

'Of course not! Every time I try read it I just fall asleep, as does Holly, and anyone else who tried.'

'You don't _read_ it, silly,' Luna chimed in, distractedly. 'You _eat_ it.'

Cat gestured to James' bag. He carried the book with him at all times – he daren't leave it in his trunk with the likes of Preston Lynch snooping about their dorm. Not to mention the fact that Headmistress Renshaw seemed to know an awful lot about what he got up to behind the scenes…

'Here,' Cat held out her hand, and James handed her the coverless book tenderly. 'Clever,' she posited, 'so you can have a copy each.'

'Huh?'

'You ripped it out of the cover, did you not? Here-'

James watched as she tore the first page clean free. She looked up at her mother, who gestured for her to continue, and the sheaf of parchment was folded daintily and plopped into Cat's mouth.

'Mmm, minty.'

James had to click his jaw back shut again as Luna looked on encouragingly, softly stroking a ginger Kneazle behind the ears, reclining on a luxurious chintz armchair and matching pouf leg rest.

'That's right James,' Luna continued, as Cat chewed rather lethargically. 'The book is made so that if you tear free a page, it regenerates almost instantly – look there. Thus, if you tear the entire contents of the book from its cover, you will have created an entirely new book. Impossible to trace, with an infinite amount of copies able to be generated. A nightmare for anyone attempting to regulate circulation, but, I daresay, exactly what the authors had in mind when they created it.'

'So the fake book inside the cover I left in my father's study…'

'Will by now be an actual copy of the real book, correct. Clever, in that he won't know you have a copy. I was wondering why he'd been a little frosty with me lately… Ooh pumpkin pasties!'

Cat took over as her mother momentarily scurried off across the room to a treat-laden table in the far corner.

'Mummy says that all you have to do is eat the pages, and it's just like reading them. You get all the knowledge that they hold, and if anyone asks, you have never actually _read_ the book. You know, Veritaserum and all of that. Plus, the book is special in that it won't appear in your memories if a Legilimens comes looking.'

'How do you know all this?' James asked, aghast, taking the book back reverently.

'Mummy helped write it!' Cat chimed, beaming with pride.

'Go on,' Luna gestured, pasty in hand.

James tentatively tore free the first page, pinching it between thumb and forefinger, trying not to pay attention to the tiny writing lest he begin to feel woozy. He slowly stuck out his tongue, it _tasted_ like he though parchment might taste. Slowly, he began to poke the crumpled sheet in with his finger, feeling really rather stupid sat there munching on stationery.

'It tastes… dusty,' he managed around a mouthful of book.

'It's the contents page,' Cat assured him. 'You don't often read the contents page, do you?'

James shrugged sheepishly. 'Who needs it?'

'Every page tastes different, and it's different for everybody. I'd recommend staying away from page sixty-nine. I'm not certain but I _think_ it-'

All of a sudden James felt like the chair had been yanked clean from under him. He flung out an arm in a desperate attempt to steady himself, cracking his knuckles against a massive crystalline vase painfully. The room wheeled, the single window spiralling through his vision again and again. Waves of vertigo assaulted him as scores of numbers and words flashed through his mind's eye incessantly, clouding his vision. He swatted at them, spinning his head around and blinking madly, none of which made a spot of difference. When the onslaught finally ceased, he was left with a heaving chest and a lingering queasy feeling deep in his stomach.

'The stool, sweetie,' Luna gestured.

James retched once or twice at the frilly stool-cum-toilet, but nothing came.

'The first time's always the hardest,' Cat murmured soothingly, rubbing his back.

James suddenly was hit by the overwhelming urge to find Tristan right at that very moment.

'So…' Luna encouraged.

James looked back down at the book, fresh new contents page sprouting forth from the spine like a crinkly beige leaf.

'Page one hundred and seventeen,' he heard himself saying. 'Omitted Memories and Minor Obliviations – Basics for Beginners.'

Luna clapped her hands in delight. She gestured enthusiastically for James to continue. He thumbed through the pages, recalling the title of every single chapter as if this very book were his most prized and oft-read treasure.

He knew everything from "No Means No; Occlumency Basics", to "Temporal Corrections; Tricks of Time for False Memory Erections", and the ominous "Twenty Tripwires to Catch an Unsuspecting Intruder; Pros and Cons to Ensnaring an Individual Within One's own Consciousness". Curiously, however, as soon as James tried to recall what was actually _in_ each chapter, he would draw blank. He looked hungrily at the book in his hands; so many spaces to fill, chapters to eat.

'Here we are,' he whispered to himself, a little reverently. He dared not read the words, for fear of being dragged into the Obliviative sleep that this book engendered, instead simply tearing free the first page. The handwriting was spidery and cursive, and tumbled about the page as he tilted it before him, all the letters cascading down to the corner in a tangled jumble.

'You oughtn't to play with your door, dear,' Luna chided, not unkindly.

James grinned uncertainly, folding the page into a bite-sized morsel, no bigger than the pasty Luna now had gripped between her teeth whilst she fished around up to her elbows in a dense shrub beside her chair.

Cat leaned in expectantly, quivering with excitement. Her lips were parted, her eyes gleaming with a fervent, pale fire. James noticed she wasn't breathing. He closed his eyes and brought the page to his mouth. He reached out instinctively, felt Cat lace her fingers through his own as the waves of nausea began to creep upon him.

'Ugh, is this _lawn clippings?_ ' he asked. Cat's answering giggle was lost as the barrage began.

This time it wasn't mere flickers, but streams – whole _rivers –_ of words rushed past him as he squeezed his eyes tight shut. Cat's fierce grip was his only anchor to reality, as he was picked up and buffeted, cast around like a ragdoll to the corners of his own mind by the power held in that single page.

When the maelstrom finally receded, Cat pulled her hands free and clapped them excitedly.

'I told you he wouldn't vomit Mummy!' she cheered.

James currently wasn't so sure.

'One down, seventeen to go!'

'Seven- seven _teen?_ What would happen if we just scrunched them all up together, and did it in one go? I don't think I can do _that_ another seventeen times.'

'Your head would explode,' Luna stated matter-of-factly. And that was the end of that idea.

Seventeen pages later and James thought that might just happen anyway. He wasn't sure which way was up, his throat was sore from dry-retching at the nausea and he broke out in uncontrollable giggles every time someone said the word "purple", but it was done.

He thought he could actually feel the knowledge rattling around inside his skull, bouncing off the sides as it found its place, in amongst all the other things he knew, deftly obscured out of the reach of any prying Legilimens. It was an alien feeling, as if someone was constantly whispering the knowledge to him over and over, but in a voice that he couldn't help but trust, and he felt that if he heard that voice enough times then he might just start to believe that it was, in fact, himself all along.

'We must leave,' Luna said, suddenly urgent. 'Your so-called Enchantress seeks you now, and if she is vexed any longer, she will become suspicious. We will speak again, tonight. There is much still to discuss. Keep this close.'

From a hidden jacket pocket Luna produced a scarf – _the_ scarf. Rain's scarf. James hadn't even realised he had lost it. The last time he remembered wearing it was two nights ago with Professor Longbottom…

When he looked up again the door to his toilet stall was swinging closed. He heard twin footsteps echoing away on tiles that didn't belong to the boys' lavatory, and when he opened the door to the stall he saw no hint of Luna or Cat. Rubbing his temples, he trudged back out to the corridor. A slow dirge was playing as the jazz music finally began to die.

'Where have you been Potter?'

James started as Wren appeared at his side, not three steps out of the bathroom. He offered her a goofy smile. 'Just chewing some words.'

'And my mother is a Nundu. Never mind, lesson. _Now.'_

She glared down at James momentarily, and he sucked in a sharp breath as something bushed across his… his _consciousness?_ The feeling of a feather dragged across the surface of his mind, so light as to cause a shudder, so faint as to have possibly been a figment of his own imagination. He fell in step behind Wren without another word, or another opportunity for her to make eye contact.

There was silence in their cramped, damp classroom when they finally entered. Cat shot him a mysterious smile from her seat, looking for all the world as if she had been camped out down here beneath the dungeons all afternoon. The only light came from a pair of sad, sputtering candles set precariously atop the grime-covered teachers' desk upon Wren leaned menacingly. The four other students' faces flickered in and out of the meagre light as they all looked on grimly.

'We're over three-quarters of the way through the year and so far not one of you has made any notable progress. Wallace, you appear to have some sort of sudden onset narcolepsy every time you attempt to achieve the appropriate trance-like state; Featherstone, if I jammed a Nimbus up that tight little bottom of yours I've no doubt it would make you less uptight than you currently are, which will never do for Enchanting; Rain, you've perfected the smug prissy smile, but little beyond that. It's almost like just because half of your clothes are dripping in Enchantments you think it will make me believe _you_ did it.'

The rest of the group shot Rain an alarmed look. Her eyes glimmered dangerously in the flickering light, and James wondered if the seat next to her wasn't such a wise choice after all.

The obligatory pre-lesson rant continued, but James tuned out Wren's self-important drawl. Rain's _clothes_ were Enchanted? He tried to catch her eye multiple times, but the half foot between them seemed an interminable gap when she fixed her stare dead ahead, her perfect posture not breaking a whit the entire time Wren decried their inadequacy.

'Potter, let's see what you've been up to.'

Wren pulled a chair forward opposite James. The way the candles lit her from behind left her face entirely in darkness, only the twin malevolent glimmers that were her eyes were discernible. They were fixed intently on James. She produced a tiny figurine from her pocket and set it on the table before them. A cracked, headless F.A.R.T club statuette, the golden hue tarnished. James shuddered involuntarily.

'Make it glow,' she whispered.

James closed his eyes; he always found it easier to concentrate thus. He sought the calm that he had had described to him every other day in this dingy, damp classroom. He willed himself to be still, he focused on shutting out the faint _drip, drip_ of water, and Wren's slow, steady breathing. He strained to ignore the fact that he could _feel_ Rain's eyes on him now, could almost sense her piqued curiosity – was he onto something?

The momentary distraction shattered the calm, and his concentration melted away. Wren _tsked_ angrily, slapping her hand against the desk. She made to push herself up, but James' own hand darted out, holding her in place.

'Once more,' he whispered.

All eyes were in the room were on James, as Wren slowly sank back into her seat. This time when he closed his eyes, her breaths were coming shorter and faster. He could almost feel her heartbeat thrumming against her breast. The calm descended of its own accord this time, the noise in the room muted, far off. This time, a new sound was blossoming slowly in the darkness, bringing with it colour, emotion, movement. The sound was repetitive, regular, with rolling lows and brief crescendos. Slowly it coalesced into something recognizable; the upbeat, bouncy tune he had been listening to in the bathroom not two hours ago; the theme song to his quiet paradise, his jazz music.

The music continued, to the point where he was no longer aware of the room in which he was sitting. The movement and colour began to paint a scene before him, in slashes and spills of sandy ochre and faded beige. Stripes of colour became portraits, a spray of sky formed a window, and the rich, spilled blood at his feet became a thick rug leading to a staircase. _The_ staircase; the place where he almost always ended up each time he brushed the surface of this trance-like state allegedly required for Enchanting.

The entrance to the Eighth floor.

As usual, his shadowy, hooded guide stood before him, a single gloved hand on the door handle. The longer he stared at the figure, the more the music began to fade. Greys overtook colour at the corner of his vision; he could hear the music coming from somewhere to his left, but he took a single step forward.

James was completely oblivious to the room around him. His four classmates stared, transfixed at the small golden statue as it gave a weak sputter, the briefest of bursts of brilliant green light. Wren's eyes were glassy, staring at something no one else could see.

James gazed intently at the hooded figure. Down the corridor, if he could just follow the music, he somehow knew that he would be able to do it. Although, as he took another step upwards, he couldn't remember exactly what _it_ was. His eyes never left the shadowy figure. In every other instance he could remember, the figure floated at the peripheries of his visions, never so close, so real. He daren't look away for fear of losing it.

In the dark, dingy room, a single bead of sweat tracked down Wren's forehead. The faint green glow was becoming more fitful, and a streamer of smoke curled from the tip of the statue.

The music was drowned out in James' ears now by a wild rushing, as if he were standing amidst a fierce gale. He was barely a step away from the door now, still with his gaze locked on the intruder, for that was what he now knew it was. _She_ was, although just how James knew this, he couldn't be sure.

Every other dream had been the same, the door would open before him, and the lies would spill forth. As he crested the landing, he reached out for the handle, at the last minute jerking his hand aside and latching on to the arm of the impostor.

They were immediately yanked off of their feet dragged into a swirling, silver-limned vortex, their bodies intertwined, interlinked until James couldn't tell where he ended ant the intruder began…

He regained his feet inside a familiar room. The stark, clinical tidiness immediately revealed it as the Hospital Wing. His perspective seemed off, somehow, as he stared down at the bed before him. He started, as he realised he was looking at _himself._ But then…

Footsteps drew his attention. His reactions were stilted as he tried to spin around to face the newcomer. _Renshaw._

'My Darling, oh thank Merlin you are safe. For a moment I thought that you… never mind. Have you seen?'

 _My Darling?_ But then, that must mean that James was-

'Yes Aunt Tia. All of it. You're right, I think. It needs to go. What if he sees the link? It's too early for him to figure it out, too much is still at stake.'

James marvelled as Wren's voice tumbled forth from his mouth, and then felt giddy again as she turned to look at his body resting on the Hospital Wing bed. A creeping, claustrophobic feeling began to eat away at his nerves, the feeling of being trapped within a body, yet having no control over ones actions would have raised his hackles, had he had any at that moment.

'Will she not be suspicious?' Wren-James continued, much to real-James' alarm. They looked over at a second unconscious form, a fan of red-gold hair pooling about her head.

'No doubt,' came Renshaw's response. 'But we will separate them, for a time, at least. I have arranged for her to be taken to St Mungo's as soon as practicable. I will ensure neither of them awakes before then.

'But they _will_ awaken, won't they? After that ordeal…'

James would have staggered, had he had control of Wren's body. The images of his and Holly's ordeal flickered to life so casually in Wren-James' mind, and James watched through the lens of a memory within a memory, what had _actually_ occurred all those months ago at the Heart.

He had no time to linger over the memory, however, as Renshaw was on the move.

'They will, in time. That memory of Potters is now yours. I have removed it from him, with a bit of luck it will buy us enough time. Next year will be pivotal to it all.'

'And the girl?'

'She won't so much as step a toe out of line without my knowing it. We'll only be given this chance one time, dear Wren, I'll not have it slip through my fingers. Not in this lifetime. I've spent too many trying to make it work.'

The scene faded abruptly, and James felt himself tugged into the very same vortex. He felt himself disentangle from Wren, who was trying desperately to tear free of his grip, but his burning thirst for _more_ caused him to hold on to her, and they whirled and spun together, until once more he was spat out, once more trapped within her body, within her very mind.

This time when the scene formed around James, he found himself standing atop a high cliff, overlooking a tumultuous Black Lake. The wind buffeted him – again as Wren – and the figure next to him. Pastel lightning illuminated the sky fitfully, shooting _upward_ rather than down. Far off in the distance, James could make out two figures scrambling ashore, walking together to the safety of the castle.

He knew who his partner was before she spoke. Her eyes were fixed on the flickering waves, and the way they danced, so full of light.

'Again, they move too fast.'

James still wasn't used to the sensation he got as Wren spoke, using what ought to have been his lips.

'They have not listened to reason, nor have the Steelhearts been able to halt their progress. They want their vengeance.'

'Stubborn and cantankerous as they ever were. There's a reason they were frozen outside of time in the first place.'

'The Merfolk will not hold much longer.'

Renshaw adjusted the high, stiff collar on her midnight black cloak. 'What do you think it is about living under the sea that makes them all so disagreeable? Sign the damned treaty, and they'd have all the help they desired.'

'But then we'd have to look like we were trying to stop them.'

'My sweet Fairy Wren, even if we tried, I'm not sure we'd succeed.'

'Do you think they can do it, then?'

'I find myself doubtful. Not without the Essence. Safe to say, it has found a new home, and it makes me shudder just how at home it truly is. But I digress. Tell me, does the probing continue?'

'At every available opportunity, Aunt Tia. I have not access to Weasley, MacMillan or Brooks-'

'Brooks is the only important one. I am… exploring alternative options with her. Other pathways, other resources.'

'Very good. As I was saying, they open their minds to me every night, just as I tell them. They think it will help their Enchanting. Pah! Lovegood may have more secrets than she lets on, but few of them relevant. Neither Mudblood is worthy of note. In truth there is little worth knowing, save whatever lurks behind Rain's iron walls…'

'Keep up the tutelage. These sessions are not solely for your petty revenge, my dear.'

'Yes, Auntie.'

A brilliant fork of jagged, pearlescent lightning shot up at the ridge, just below where there two were stood. Wren let out a small yelp of fright. Renshaw remained unmoved.

'It would appear they have noticed us. Come, my sweet, let us turn in. They will not break through this night, and I grow tired of standing vigil.' She shook her head, exasperated. 'If I'd had my way we'd have razed Atlantis to the ground the first time around.'

'Then why, Aunt Tia, did you go to all the trouble of letting them out _this_ time around?'

Darkness unfurled, and the memory ended.

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you all again for your continued support. To those who read and take enjoyment for this story, you are the reason I started in the first place. To those who read and share their time and encouragement in reviews, you are the reason that I came back._


	20. Chapter 20 - Backflip

James was still shaking three hours after his run-in with Wren, surrounded by his friends and ensconced covertly in the Waterfall room. Deep within the castle the clock tolled midnight, and the eight of them paused in their conversation as a baleful howl cut through the still night air, wafting in through the roughly-hewn windows in the far wall. For a long moment the only sound was the constant trickling flow of water, cascading down three of the four walls, glistening with an ethereal glow in the light of the full moon without.

The small fire around which the group was huddled did little to keep the cold or the surrounding darkness at bay, and only added to the conspiratorial overtones of their meeting. Tristan flicked his wrist, and the fire changed to a cool, silver light, matching that of the heavy moon and painting the room in sharp, contrasting blacks and whites. Dancing shadows obscured most of their faces.

James' eyes locked on to Holly's, across the circle from him. She hadn't said a word since he had revealed all that he had seen and felt and _remembered_ through Wren's body. Rain had grimaced at the unflinching detail he had gone into about what Teddy – _Imperiused_ Teddy – had done to her. She had stared each and every one of them down after that, as if she sensed some kind of incoming challenge at having even a modicum of weakness exposed. She had received only concerned glances in return.

The ghostly light was emphasising a hollowness to her cheeks that had begun to appear over the past few days. James had been too caught up in avoiding her to notice, but a sallow gauntness was beginning to creep in, not unlike when she had succumbed to a dangerous allergic reaction to the magic of Hogwarts in first year.

The distant howling ended abruptly. James was the one to break the silence. 'Cat, your mum, is she…'

'Gone,' Cat replied. Somehow, James had already known the answer. 'Renshaw discovered that she was in the castle and chased her out while we were with Wren.'

James pointedly didn't look at Rain, merely wrapped her scarf tighter around his neck, taking a long, deep breath of the salty ocean scent that it perpetually held. It's mysteries – and likely by extension many of Rain's – would remain just that, for now.

'So what the bloody hell do we do now,' Fred breathed, his cursing easing a little of the building tension.

'First thing is to find out whether or not Wren knows,' Clip suggested. His brow was furrowed, and he worried his lower lip with his teeth, deep in thought.

'If she does, she did an outstanding job of hiding it,' Cassie countered.

'Agreed. I think it's safe to assume she doesn't know, and, by extension, Renshaw doesn't know yet either.'

'Well we can't go back to Enchanting lessons again, if Wren is just using the classes as a cover to sift through our minds.' Cassie sounded somewhat dejected at the thought.

'Are you kidding?' Fred asked, 'you have to go back and try whatever it was you did again. Think of all the information we could get. Who knows what else Renshaw is up to?'

James felt ill at the very thought.

'No,' Clip interjected firmly. 'There's risks and there's risks. Put it this way: once you've gone and caught the Snitch, you don't turn around and let it go again just to see if next time you can catch it _twice._ If what James saw is real – and I agree with you that it very likely _is_ – then we have to protect it like that Aster Ogleby does his goal hoops, and not risk it on some pray-to-Merlin play for a double or nothing. You follow me?'

Clip clicked his jaws shut, having just given his longest speech in recent memory in front of the entire group. Cassie looked on appraisingly.

'I'm just a dumb Beater, mate,' Fred grumbled. 'Snitches and goal hoops are above my pay grade. All I do is whack things.'

'I agree. With Clip,' Cassie hastily added to Fred's confused look. This information is too valuable to risk. Even though that probably means no more Enchanting lessons.'

'The most important thing is to protect James,' Holly added. The look she gave him across the moonlit fire burned hotter than the flames.

'Can we eat more of that book?' James suggested.

'Mummy says that too much in a short space of time will cause the mind to dissociate from one's consciousness and that you will lapse into a state of non-awareness indefinitely. Or so she believes.'

'That sounded like a _no_ ,' Fred offered helpfully.

'What about telling the old boy?' Tristan suggested. 'I'm sure your father would want to know about this.'

'Good idea,' James agreed. 'I'll owl him tomorrow after breakfast. I need to talk to Kal, as well. She'll know more about these Atlanteans. If they're the ones who have been attacking the Merfolk all year she might know a way to stop them.'

'Hold on a minute,' Clip interjected. 'When did we move from self-preservation to staging an attack on an unknown magical entity?'

'Erm… always be prepared?' James offered. 'I'm not going to fight anyone, I just want to talk to Kal; I just _know_ she knows something.'

'Well you can't go alone,' Cassie suggested.

'We should all stick together,' Fred added. 'If we get caught out alone she could just pick us off one by one like-'

'I think that's a bad idea,' Clip interrupted once again. He chewed his lip a little nervously once he realised the entire groups' attention was on him. 'It's just- Renshaw's not trying to _kill_ us. Whatever she's up to may not even have anything to do with us. If we start all of a sudden acting suspicious and scared, she's bound to twig that we're up to something. Her not knowing that we know what we do is our greatest asset; we can't jeopardize that by getting too ahead of ourselves just yet.'

Cassie was looking mightily impressed as Clip's foresight. 'Agreed, though James I still would rather you took someone with you, to see Kal.'

She gestured down at her still-bandaged leg, indicating that she might not be the best choice.

'I'll go,' Cat offered. 'I've been meaning to ask Kal for some Grindylow semen-'

'Eww!' the group chorused.

Tristan saw his moment. 'If you want-'

' _Aaargh!'_

Fred dove at Tristan in a full-body tackle before he could finish. The group laughed at the playful wrestling, until the pair rolled over onto Cassie's leg. She screeched in pain, and Tristan leapt up, falling on his backside right into his silver-limned fire.

'Ooh, it tickles.'

Tears of pain welled in the corner of Cassie's eyes.

But the laughter was short-lived; the sombre mood of their meeting settled down like a heavy veil draped across their collective shoulders. Soon they were all as still as Rain had been through the entire gathering. Cat began to tell a tale of Renshaw's reign of terror before she returned from America. Her eyes glimmered fiercely in the argent firelight, and seven avid faces were fixated on her in terror.

Beside James, Rain was as still as stone, and as Cat reached the climax of her story, and Cassie clapped a hand to her mouth in horror, James began to notice just how small Rain looked, huddled within an overlarge coat. Sunken cheeks appeared ghost-like under the firelight, and as conversation lapsed James felt a slender hand find its way into the palm of his own, and that terrified him.

The following morning was a bright and clear Saturday. James was grainy-eyed and heavy-headed from lack of sleep, having spent most of the rest of the night penning the letter he would send to his father. He slid into an open space at the Gryffindor table for breakfast opposite Cat, who was currently fast asleep in her bowl of porridge. A group of sixth-years were having great fun levitating as many slices of toast onto her head as they could without waking her. James counted an admittedly impressive seventeen.

A round of cheers went up from across the room, startling Cat awake in a crumbly cascade. The Slytherin quidditch team had arrived, prepped and ready for the day's match against Hufflepuff.

It was amazing how three wins in a row could turn around the bickering, snarky lot that they had been at the start of the season. A win today would put them clear at the top of the table.

Odette Mansfield strode at the front of the group, a Slytherin flag draped across her shoulders like an emerald cloak. She was wearing her ridiculous glittering green heels and a look that told James she was loving every second of this attention.

James felt a slight pang in his chest as her eyes failed to do their usual sultry flick in his direction. His own followed her all the way to her seat, attention unrequited.

'Isn't she just mind-blowing,' Tristan said, squeezing in next to James.

'Mmm.'

Fred's face lit up. 'I've got something she could-'

'Hey, that's my line!' Tristan looked positively outraged.

For some reason the crass conversation irked James more than usual, so he reached for a nearby copy of the _Prophet_ and drew it around his face to shut them out.

He barely paid heed to the full-page spread on a new breeder of Anitpodean Opaleyes, nor the conspiratorial column on the array of suspicious injuries suffered by the Holyhead Harpies leading up to playoffs. His mind was fixated on the letter burning a hole in his pocket. As soon as Fred would finish his agonizingly slow slog through his mountain of breakfast they were to send it away.

With a signalling hoot and an oncoming _whoosh_ the post arrived. James folded the paper and was greeted by the merciful sight of Fred's last rasher of bacon hanging from his mouth, evidently pretending to be a panting dog, to the absolute delight of a nearby Rosalie Gardner.

'Ooh look!' Rosie suddenly cried, aghast. 'It looks like it's hurt.'

James turned to see an owl flapping fitfully along, well behind the majority of the flock. But it wasn't just any owl.

'Hermes!' the Potters' family owl crash-landed into James' lap, limping badly and letting out a strangled coo. His feathers were ruffled and bent, and he flinched beneath James' touch – something that had never happened before.

Cat looked on the verge of tears, scooping up poor Hermes as James unfastened the letter from his leg. The handwriting on the crinkled cover set his heart racing even faster. It was Lily's.

 _James,_

 _It's finally happened: Dad's left the Ministry._

 _We had the Minister over for dinner last week, and Daddy broke the news halfway through dessert. The Minster almost choked on his éclair. They argued a lot after that. About the Steelhearts, mostly. Daddy wants them gone. The Minister offered to restructure the entire Auror department and put Daddy in charge of all the Steelhearts, but he said no. By the time the Minister left both of them were angry. Daddy blames him for a lot of things, apparently._

 _And then three nights ago Teddy came home. From where, I don't know – I haven't seen him, he's been locked in his room under a Ministry-mandated quarantine. He's sick, James. I only saw him for a second, but his skin was all leathery and cracked, and it glowed like fire. One eye was all white, and he keeps yelling things in his sleep. "She's coming!" or "they're closing in!"_

 _I think he discovered something though, because ever since he returned, Daddy and Uncle Ron have been drinking from that dusty bottle of Firewhiskey – that one they only drink when they're about to close a case._

 _One more thing; Daddy took me aside and told me not to worry because he's working for someone as something called a 'Private Contractor'. I don't know what that means, but I found an official-looking letter from L.A.W.W Holdings – have you heard of them?_

 _P.S. Daddy says be careful who you confide in. This is a sheet of parchment I stole from his stash – if anyone but you reads it, it will appear as if I am telling you about a recent trip to Diagon Alley to buy school supplies._

 _Stay safe,_

 _Lily_

'Well, that hardly sounds worth assaulting an owl over,' Fred mused.

'It's charmed, you can't read the real contents. Come on.' James grabbed Fred's arm and pulled him up. Cat rose, Hermes still cradled gently in her arms.

'I'm going to take him down to Hagrid,' she said, stroking the owl gently.

James nodded gratefully. All thoughts of sending his own letter had well and truly vanished now. He made note to burn it the first chance he got. A wave of isolation lapped menacingly at his ankles.

The others got up to follow, and he filled them in on the way down to the pitch – well out of earshot of any listening ears.

'Well, it's been coming for a while now, hasn't it?' Cassie asked.

James supposed it had, it was just… his dad was _Harry Potter_ , the Head Auror. The coolest, most dangerous job in the Wizarding World. Who else would catch the Dark Wizards and Witches if not Harry Potter? He felt a little embarrassed, though couldn't understand why.

'I think it's a good thing,' Holly added. Her hair was tied with a green ribbon in support of her house, and her eyes glittered in the watery morning light. 'Look at it this way – now your Dad is free to do whatever he likes, without having to worry about the Ministry rules. I mean, he defeated Voldemort without any help from the Ministry. It'll be like the old days.'

She struck an action pose, mock-drawing her wand and levelling it at an imaginary foe.

'I bet it's the Desecrator he's about to catch,' she added.

James smiled at her gratefully. When he looked at it that way, it was actually even cooler. Vigilante bounty hunters sounded even better than Aurors. She nudged James' shoulder gently, whispering so only he could hear, 'your Dad's still pretty damn awesome, James.'

They walked side-by-side all the way down to the pitch.

Not once throughout the ensuing Quidditch match between Hufflepuff and Slytherin did Odette so much as look his way. Not a single wink or wave or any of the salacious glances with which she usually favoured him during the game, taunting in her self-assuredness. James' mood wasn't helped by the early lead that the Slytherin Chasers built, and it was well and truly soured when Odette caught the Snitch with a textbook Wronski Feint, handing Slytherin a two hundred sixty to forty point win, and the sole spot at the top of the table.

He turned away as she performed her now-signature backflip _standing_ atop her broom, hovering at the midpoint of the pitch. The crowd roared. Tristan, and the rest of the male populace cheered as they were greeted with a flash of lace and pale skin. James was already halfway down the staircase. He just wanted to beat the crowds, he told himself. He was only upset because Slytherin had won, that was all.

He met Cat at the foot of the stairs, and they broke away from the main student body and headed together towards the Black Lake. Cat handed him his own Poseidon overcoat, and they slipped beneath the waves together. The midday sun was almost warm enough to cause James not to shiver as he immersed himself. Despite none of the water actually _touching_ him, being submerged in the frigid darkness triggered some primal sense that told him he just ought to be cold.

Kal was waiting for them, her expression one of concern.

'May the sunlight filter down upon you, spawn of Harry Potter. And may the current ever flow at your back, Elsreaver.'

James was momentarily confused at what Kal had said, until he saw Cat smile graciously and nod her return greeting.

'You risk much by venturing down here at this time, younglings.'

'May your water never stagnate, Kal,' James offered the formal greeting hastily. 'We know-'

'Kjalsettr,' Cat interrupted. 'It pleases me that we swim together once more.'

Kal favoured James with a guarded stare, then pointedly ignored him, speaking directly to Cat. 'Indeed, Elsreaver. I had thought, for the final time… this meeting brings me much joy.'

'I don't suppose you have taken care of the Grindylows lately…'

Kal's face immediately brightened. She fished something out of a small seaweed-strapped pack that was slung over her shoulder amidst her myriad shell necklaces.

'I had wondered why I thought to bring this with me today. I should have known. But, alas, our reunion was not Seen. I find the silt slipping through my fingers all too often, these days.'

Cat accepted the small phial filled with a vaguely luminescent green liquid with a small bow.

'I see you did not heed my warning,' Kal turned abruptly to James. The look she gave him was stern. Her moss-green eyes fixed on the scarf – _the_ scarf – around his neck.

'It's ok, we can trust him,' Cat interjected while James was still fumbling for words. _Trust_ him? What the-

'You are right, Elsreaver, the path of this river is set. It does no good to rail against the ravine that guides it.'

'We know about the Atlanteans,' James finally managed to blurt out.

Kal twirled in the water before him. Her necklaces fanned out around her body and for the first time James saw a hint of a smile.

'Look at you, like a young smolt who has navigated the Deep Currents for the first time. So proud,' she flipped her tail casually, buffeting James with a wash of water. 'But I tell you that an entire world full of oceans yet awaits, and so the tides of one lake are as nothing.'

James didn't like the sound of that.

'If you say you know about the Atlanteans, I should say you don't know as much as you think. The waters before me are lucid on what I may tell you, and listen close, spawn of Harry Potter, for beyond today, the flow of our rivers shall fork.'

James picked a spot on a nearby rock, disturbing a tiny cloud of slime as he sat. This had the feeling of a long story.

'Those who harass us are no true Atlanteans, in a sense. Not any longer. Atlantis was populated by the living; it's denizens much the same as you, and some very much like myself.' She twirled acrobatically once more, in a clacking, twinkling array of shell and scale. 'If, perhaps, not quite so fair.'

Cat had also picked up on the story-time vibe, and proceeded to nestle down on James' lap, as his rock was not large enough for the two of them. Kal pirouetted once more before continuing her story, always moving, always fluid.

'The story of Atlantis from the very beginning has been lost to all in the silts of time. Tides have receded and oceans have fallen, leaving the knowledge dry, and out of reach, but the Neriad, the Merfolk, we remember.

'Fifty spawns ago, Atlantis was a city, a beautiful city of great power. It sat upon a tiny island, surrounded by the sea on all sides. The waters were lucid and clear, the oceans warm and the currents gentle and caressing.'

Kal had a faraway look in her eye, and her hands were held to her cheeks, as if remembering that very embrace of those long-forgotten tides.

'Rivers and streams ran all across the island, and their water was cool and refreshing. The greatest Spawnings in the history of the Neriad were held in the mountain pools overlooking the sparkling city of Atlantis.

'For the city itself was magical in its beauty. Grand spires rose to pierce the… the _clouds_ , yes. Clouds. There was shining marble and leaf-of-gold. There were palaces and castles bigger even that Hogwarts. But the city held more than would meet the eye, and for every tower and spire that reached up to your clouds, there was a glittering sea-cave hewn from the living rock beneath the surface of the water. For the city itself was built so that it may live in and with the water. Every street was a river so clear and clean. Every house and shop and estate blossomed beneath the water for as many stories as it stretched above.

'Magical, indeed, was this city, for humans were not its only inhabitants. They shared the grace of Atlantis with the Sirens, the Spawn-mothers of all Merfolk, and they shared it in peace. Our kelp-weavers exchanged wares with human stone-carvers, and our fishermen with your gem-cutters, thus the city thrived for many and more years upon such a prosperous relationship.

'Magical, it was thrice, and thrice it was damned. For the citizens of Atlantis were, every man woman and child, of magical blood. It is said, that human blood is like a standing pool, and if a new stream does not flow, nor a current stir this pool then it shall stagnate. And when it stagnates the human mind is prone to twist and warp the body into a maleficent wraith. The people – the _humans_ – of Atlantis were proud, and thus they would accept no visitors from neighbouring nations. They were proud of their city and their heritage and the way that the pool of their blood was so rich with magical lineage, that not a single Muggle had ever stepped foot on the island.

'As the splendour of Atlantis began to wax, and the rumours of her bounty – not to mention the alluring beauty of our ancient Sirens – began to grow, more visitors sought the island. Muggles, from all over the known world, were coming to bear witness to this thrice-magical city. The humans of Atlantis could think of no greater sin – their city was magical, and only those of true, magical birth and blood – only _Atlanteans –_ were worthy of bearing witness.

'Unrest grew, eyes turned away from their gem-filled halls and to the walls and fields of these neighbouring nations who would so willingly insult the greatest city on Earth, who would dare to let _Muggles_ walk her shores. Stone masons downed tools and donned swords. The Kelp-Weavers traded their baskets for spears, and the pool of blood ran thick at the promise of war.'

Kal paused here to swish her tail and study her subjects. It was the longest she had stayed still for in the entire time James had known her. She spun on the spot once more, before settling down among the silts to resume.

'Now unto this point, we can and will hold no ill will towards the humans – towards the Atlanteans. For the Chieftain and Chieftainess of the Sirens rode the waves alongside the Atlantean war galleys, and they all flew the same flag, woven from the finest Atlantean kelp, the last patriotic act undergone by the weavers. The Atlanteans set out to challenge the second greatest city known to man – rumoured to play host to a pantheon of gods – they set out to lay siege to Athens.

'Their failure was swift and it was brutal, for they soon found that it was not imaginary gods that resided in Greece, but powerful witches and wizards with god-like delusions, possessing skills that the Atlanteans had long since forgotten in their indolent ways. They fled, their tails cut and their scales dimmed, but they had incurred the wraths of the ones who called themselves gods, and that wrath was not yet sated.

'In a feat of magic unheard of before or since, the wizards of Athens sought to Banish the entire city – the entire _island_ – of Atlantis, to imprison it outside of time itself, so that they could forever dwell on their failures and their sins. Terrified, the humans of Atlantis enacted their most grievous betrayal yet.

'In a desperate attempt to hide from what they now thought to be true gods, the humans of Atlantis tricked the remaining Sirens into a magically binding slavery, and attempted to harness their power to hide their precious city beneath the waves. From the youngest hatchling to the oldest Shaman, the humans tore the magic from their bodies, rending them apart in the process in a pathetic attempt to hide themselves and escape punishment for their deeds. Their attempts failed, and the smoking ruins that were left after that final failure were locked away, along with the last remaining traitorous denizens of the city.'

James' eyebrows were currently somewhere well above his hairline. Cat was just nodding quietly, as if it all made sense to her now. Kal remained still, barely twitching the tip of her glimmering tail. It was impossible to tell underwater, but her eyes sparkled in a melancholy way that reminded James of tears.

'Thus, the true reason behind the feud with the Atlanteans, a story known to but a few witches or wizards. Like many tales of such age, the current has stirred it and mixed in as much silt as there is pure water, and so I cannot vouch for its veracity, as I was not there to witness.'

Something wasn't quite adding up.

'But then, if you said that the things that are attacking you _aren't_ Atlanteans, then who – or _what_ – are they?'

Kal abruptly laughed, springing up from the lakefloor and coating them in a swirling mess of silt and debris.

'And so my young smolt has tasted the kiss of the ocean at last! Besides a prison, what else does one need to hold a people captive?'

James thought for a moment. 'A jailor?'

Kal clapped happily. 'They grow up so fast! Indeed, James Potter, a jailor. And so, the wizards of Ancient Greece took the angry spirits of the hoodwinked and slain Sirens, binding the hate and rage of thousands into no more than a score Guardians, to stand watch over the humans of Atlantis for eternity. These are beings made of pure hate, of blind rage and wicked vengeance. And they have been freed.'

The sinking feeling in James' stomach likely would have dragged him right down to the bottom of the lake, had he not been there already. Cat gasped on his lap, and clutched a handful of his robe in fright.

'That is right, Elsreaver. There is only way which they can be freed; when the security of the prison that is Atlantis is in jeopardy. Something, or rather, some _one_ has disturbed the prison in such a way that these vengeful gatekeepers should come looking for vengeance.'

'And- and they're coming to _Hogwarts?'_ James knew the answer even before Kal nodded her head solemnly.

James' mind immediately flashed to Renshaw – she had _admitted_ to letting them free, in front of Wren. Hadn't she?

 _Why did you go to all that trouble to set them free this time around?_

Renshaw had never answered the question in the memory, but James was certain she would have confirmed it – wasn't he?

If only he could recall the memory at will. Or if he had another chance at going back…

'But who- what are they seeking?'

'For so long, I have wanted to tell you this, James Potter. I argued at length with my father and my clan to be allowed to tell you just what you need to know, but the waters before me were murky and stagnant, and my gills were clogged with silt. I have since peered into the current before me with a clearer vision, and if there is one thing I have Seen, it is that I must not tell you.'

'But _why?'_

'I do what I do for the good of the Merfolk, James Potter. Our days of living side by side with humans ended with the city of Atlantis, do you not see that? We will live and spawn and die by the merit of our own decisions. We are our own people, and do not seek equality any more than we seek to rebuild the ancient riverine streets of that city. We are the Merfolk, descended from the true Sirens, and we will not be used.'

Kal had risen during that impassioned speech, and now floated eye-to-eye with James and Cat. James nodded, cowed.

'Before we part one last time, James Potter, I will caution you thus; I have Seen much of what awaits you. You are like a clear mountain spring – pure and bright you spill forth from the very earth. Those who see you smile, and know that you bring life. You trickle down the mountainside, and as you do, you gather more flows to you. Streams and springs and something muddier. The waters will mix as you grow in size and speed, rushing onwards towards the great waterfalls. A waterfall is the end of a Mermaids journey, come spawning, James Potter. Do not let this waterfall be the end of you. Find what makes you that clear spring, and hold on to it, for such a source can provide so much life, but can in turn poison so many if someone so wills.'

A deep, rumbling boom resounded through the depths of the lake, stirring up the muds at their feet. Kal flicked her head towards the murky darkness. James could see the coiled tension mount in her body.

'I must away,' she hissed, favouring them with a final glance. She dug momentarily in her seaweed satchel, fishing out a small shell which she pressed into each of their palms. 'When you are so far out to sea that you can no longer see the distant landscape of my memory, this will help you to recall. May- may the tides bear you upon their shoulders for all of your days.'

Before James knew what was happening, he found himself jerked into a rough hug, as Kal pressed them into her chest for a brief moment. James got a face full of shell and a tang of salt, before Kal shot off, faster than he could have imagined.

Cat's eyes were glistening in that same, sad way, as they slowly swum back to shore. Once they breached the surface, they saw the ribbons of pastel lightning flashing at the far end of the Lake, and James looked down at the shell in his hand, suddenly feeling his own waves of sadness.

Cat wouldn't move for a long time, her face a twisted mask of grief. James finally got up the courage to ask the question that had been bugging him from the beginning of their meeting.

'Cat, what does Elsreaver mean? That name that Kal kept calling you.'

'It's a title,' Cat sobbed, her own shell-gift clutched tightly to her breast. 'It- it means… Seer.'


	21. Chapter 21 - Mirrored

_A/N: Merry Christmas! Hopefully the holidays bring you happiness, and I will see you all in the new year!_

 _-Z_

* * *

The moonlight outside was smothered by a thick blanket of cloud, rain hammered a monotonous drumbeat against the window panes, and James Potter waited to fulfil a promise made what felt like a month ago.

In reality, it was only a week. The events that had taken place since then had turned time into a seamless flow of action, and he was struggling to keep his head above the surface.

The torches were burning low in their brackets, and approaching footsteps were masked by the sound of the weather outside So it was that his companion had slid in beside him before he'd so much as noted their presence.

'Hello James Potter.'

He'd not told any of the others that he would be venturing out alone, after hours. He knew just what they'd have said.

'Hello Rain.'

She offered her arm, and he tentatively took it, but the oncoming rush of nausea that he was bracing for never came. He eyed her sideways as they descended the staircase by wandlight, and was troubled by what he saw.

She looked older, and _wearier,_ somehow. As if she hadn't slept in a week. Despite being nearly a head taller than James, she was walking hunched, and her gaze was turned decidedly inwards.

'So what do you think?' James finally asked, 'about it all. Renshaw, Atlantis, everything that's going on.'

'Renshaw scares me,' she stated plainly. A sentiment James could empathise with. 'Did you know that she was Senior Advisor to the Minister? A role in which she would be free to push her own magical and political agenda to her heart's content. A role in which she would have to answer to nobody but her own conscience. And she gave it all up, for the chance at command over some twisted, malevolent-'

'Hey, we're not _that_ bad,' James interjected.

In spite of herself, Rain actually smiled. 'The Steelhearts, James Potter, not us. Although, if what the Minister said to your father is true, she no longer commands even them. At least not in name.

'What could be so important that she would give up one of the most coveted jobs in the Magical world for?'

'Dumbledore was here for years,' James mused.

'Yes, but does Renshaw strike you as a doddery old fool with more desire to be loved than feared?'

'Was Dumbledore really, though? I mean, from what Dad said, he was doing three million things behind the scenes for every one thing he was seen to do in public. He had access to Dad, to all the magical children of a generation, most of whom eventually came to fight _for_ him, and _against_ Voldemort.'

Rain remained silent for a moment, pondering James' words. The look she gave him was appraising, but edged with fear. Her grip on his arm tightened. 'He was preparing for a war.'

James' mind raced in the silence that waxed. He'd never have a better opportunity. On the fourth floor landing, as they paused behind a suit of armour to check that the coast was clear, he drew forth as much Gryffindor courage as he could manage.

'Rain, I found something… something that my Dad had about your time in St. Mungo's.'

Once he started talking he couldn't stem the flow of words. He told her everything he could recall of the letter, and what he had pieced together upon seeing her scar, and everything that had passed between him and Odette.

Rain's response was delayed as a teacher passed their hiding spot. The silence was filled with trepidation.

'I see why you have been avoiding me,' she finally said slowly, testing her words before giving them up. 'James Potter, may I show you something?'

He nodded, then watched in silence as Rain carefully unwound her scarf. She handed James the deep blue amulet that she wore hidden beneath it. It was searing hot to touch, but cooled the longer he held it. Her coat came next, draped over the shoulder of the suit of armour that was hiding them. Her eyes locked on James' as she slowly unfastened first one, then another of the buttons on her shirt.

James held his breath as she pulled the silken fabric aside, revealing in the dim flickering light, the very scar he had seen on the train at the start of the year. He gasped, in spite of himself. Where before, the sickening blackness had been the size of a Galleon, spread across nearly the entire left side of her chest, now it was a drop no larger than a Knut. The spiderwebbing taint was barely visible coursing through her veins.

James looked her in the eyes, wondrous, as she fixed her buttons. She reached for the amulet, and sighed as it settled around her neck once more.

'I have been busy, James Potter. I have only one life, here. I'll not let it slip through my fingers so easily. Rest assured, that I will do everything in my power to fight this. I ask only that you stand beside me.'

'Of course.' The words were out before he'd had time to think.

'Through all that is to come, no matter what you may hear, or what others will tell you?'

'Always.'

She made her way out from their alcove then, linking her arm with James' once more. 'Good, because trying times await us, James Potter. I have not the gift of foresight, but I certainly know, that I will not make it through it all without you by my side.'

The fear in her voice was infectious, and James shuddered despite the mild night.

They turned down a corridor on the second floor, marked by a headless suit of armour that Fred had accidentally decapitated two weeks prior.

'I lost a lot of days inside St. Mungo's, James Potter. Weeks, even, where I would sleep, waking fitfully in between only to be force-fed another potion and told that I must sleep some more. These past days I have begun to wonder, if Renshaw did as she said in your memory, and is somehow tracking me, then who else may have taken the opportunity whilst I lay prone in that bed?'

'Surely they can't just do that. I mean, wouldn't your-'

'You forget I have no family, James Potter. I have nobody.'

'A lot of people seem to have a very keen interest in you.'

'People – wizards especially – fear what they do not – or cannot – understand. You must remember that we are led by a generation baptised in the fire and blood of not one, but two wars. No matter how hard they try to bury it, scepticism and mistrust is second nature.

'When the word gets out that a Nundu has been set loose in the midst of Godric's Hollow, the first reaction is to gather the men of the village and exterminate it. When, instead, the poor soul may be lost, torn from its home against its will and spat out with no more justification than to cause chaos. Remember that, James Potter, that sometimes it is the Nundu that is the victim.'

If there was more to her story than its face value, James couldn't grasp it. They had arrived at their destination. Rain paused next to a faded, wooden door. The dust thick on the floor indicated that no-one had traversed this path in a while.

She lowered her wand at the lock. ' _Alohomora.'_

Will a dull _thunk_ , the mechanism clicked open, and the door swung inward easily beneath James' tentative push.

James immediately noticed the sound of the torrential rain increase tenfold. They had to hold their wands aloft to illuminate the entirety of the long, narrow classroom. He saw the reason immediately; a section of the wall facing out to the elements had been blasted away, and upon further inspection, a thick, black ichor coated the bricks at the margins of the breach. Everywhere the raindrops hit it they hissed and fizzed angrily. Dust and rubble coated the floor thickly in that far corner, and nobody had even bothered to attempt to right the desks, which lay scattered and splintered like so much litter down the length of the room.

'They never could fix that breach,' Rain mused. 'Stray not too close to the damage, James Potter. I do not like the look of that sickly blackness.'

James agreed. He lit the only torch bracket with an _Incendio_ , and turned to the other end of the room, where a tall, mirrored cabinet stood ominously still. The dust around its base had clearly been disturbed. Rain was studying it pensively.

'So this is it, then?' James had to raise his voice to be heard over the rain. The dancing shadows from the torchlight were amplified by the mirrored façade on the cabinet before them. It shuddered violently, causing them both to start.

Lightning flashed without.

'As promised, James Potter. It appears that Princess has been rather lonely, of late.'

'You _named_ it?'

'Not I.'

'So…'

'You are familiar with the incantation, no?'

James nodded his head. His heart rate spiked as Rain strode confidently over to the cupboard. Were they not going to prepare first?

With no further ado, Rain flung the doors wide and stepped back to study James' fate.

For a moment there was nothing. James peered into the cabinet but was greeted only by swirling blackness. He jumped backward in fright as a hand shot out, followed by a black-robed, human body. The skin on the hand was cracked and faded, stretched taught and sickly yellow like sun-damaged parchment. He could see the veins beneath the translucent skin. Yellow nails curled into a clawed fist.

He took another step back, colliding with an upended table, as the figure extricated itself from the darkness. The black robes were faded and tattered, hanging from a skeletal frame in ragged strips. James barely noticed the faded Gryffindor logo on the breast, slashed through so many times as to be nearly unrecognisable.

But it was the face – or lack thereof – that terrified James the most. An untidy mop of dark hair was thinning, falling out even as James watched, and it framed a face devoid of features at all. Skin stretched taut and peeling over gaunt cheekbones, no eyes to see nor mouth to snarl, but it looked directly at James, directly _into_ him.

He knew who it was, even without the hair or the Gryffindor robe. It was him. It was his legacy, his failure. A faceless body, dead and decaying, not only physically, but in the minds of the entire wizarding world. He had achieved nothing with his life, he was a faceless nobody, doomed not even to the pages of history because so few were his deeds. Images flashed through his mind, a grave unmarked and unvisited, forgotten by a family who had not the will to care. The backs of his friends, as they turned away. And when they looked his way their eyes saw right through him.

The faceless figure took a shambling step towards James, whose wand-arm had fallen to his side.

This was going to be him, doomed to anonymity. The son of the most fabled wizarding hero in a dozen generations, and he had achieved nothing. Perhaps history would forget him altogether, and would speak of Harry Potter's single son and daughter. Al was the clever one, he knew all the books and spells. He should have been in Ravenclaw, but James had tried his best to stop that from happening, because he had hated the idea of being so separated from his brother. He was holding them back, really. Al would never have been bullied in Ravenclaw, he would have been top of his class, and it was James' fault.

A hand reached out towards him, but James could back up no further.

A flash of colour caught his attention, and he saw Rain watching on, her red-gold hair spilling forth over her shoulders. Her eyes were fixated on him, she was biting her bottom lip, nervous.

The momentary distraction was just enough for James to raise his wand. As the figure snatched at him, he scrambled out of reach, tripping over the desk behind him and landing painfully on his tailbone.

' _Riddikulus!'_ he yelled, pointing his wand directly at the _thing's_ face.

The stretched-parchment skin turned a stony grey, and the figure wobbled. All of a sudden its neck gave away with a sickening _pop_ and it fell head-first onto the floor, its head transfigured to stone. It floundered around on the floor uselessly for a moment, trying in vain to get up. _Laughter,_ James remembered. He forced out a chuckle, and he heard Rain giggle from the far side of the room, but the memory was still too raw, and instead of disappearing, the Boggart morphed before his eyes, getting younger, more human, pushing itself up to stand over James where he lay tangled with the legs of a desk.

'Failed yet again,' sneered a perfect replica of Harry Potter.

James heard a gasp from the background.

'Is there anything else you would like to disappoint me with today? Would you like to bring any more shame to the name of your grandfather? Masquerading about Hogwarts like some shallow imitation of the Marauders, failing classes, trying to involve yourself in the lives of adults because you want to be like me? There's only one Harry Potter, and you will never be anything like me!'

This time the Boggart wasn't reaching out for James, his father was content to tower over him, hurling abuse and disdain from above. And it was far more terrifying. James desperately clung to the things he had achieved. He had won F.A.R.T club and saved Rain in first year-

' _Saved_ her? You mean, almost got two of your friends killed! How dare you put them in danger like that? When _I_ faced down Voldemort in my first year, I did it alone! I'd rather die than risk the lives of my friends, but little James Potter hasn't the courage to go it alone, so he puts better witches and wizards in danger in his place. You disgust me, James. How could you even think that you had a chance of measuring up to me?'

James looked over to Rain, pleading for help. Tears were stinging his eyes.

'Ah, of course. You latch yourself on to this girl, in the hopes that she will be something great. Because, deep down, you think the same as everyone else, don't you? She's some sort of freak, some weird breed of special that you can harness and ride to relevance by sheer virtue of being in her pocket. That's all she is, isn't it? A way to the top? I can't even look at you.'

His next six words cut through James like a knife.

'You are no son of mine.'

James choked back a sob. He couldn't even look at Rain, not after what his father had said. He raised his wand in shaking hands. ' _R-riddikulus.'_

Nothing happened.

'Hah! Of course you can't cast it. Did you know, a Boggart becomes stronger proportional to the strength of the wizard? Of course you didn't! I am ten times the wizard you'll ever be, and I banished mine with ease! You're weak, James. You don't deserve the name Potter!'

' _Riddikulus!'_ James yelled, defiant.

'I can only stand so much failure-'

His Boggart-father's voice had gone up an octave. James heard a gasp from the back of the room. He tried again.

' _Riddikulus!'_

'Don't think you can-'

The creature choked off its sentence, as its voice was become higher and squeakier than the most excited house-elf James had ever heard. There had been a terrifying week where Fred had been sent a batch of ' _Squeaky Clean'_ breath mints that made one unable to speak for hours, save for making an irritating squeaking noise like the air being let out of a balloon. The glee on Fred's face each time he had managed to sneak one into somebody's dessert or pumpkin juice had never gotten old.

' _Riddikulus!'_ James yelled once more, with confidence.

The Boggart roared – or tried to – letting out a wailing squeak, as if someone had just stepped on said house-elf. James laughed – truly laughed. He laughed as hard as he had when Cassie wouldn't stop moaning about her leg and Fred had tossed one into her yawning mouth from across the table. And as hard as he had when Holly had sat on Fred's legs while Cassie had, in return, beaten him senseless with her Dragon Book. The sound of all of his friends' laughter echoed in his head, he laughed until his sides hurt, and suddenly, before him a _pop_ like a cork sounded, and he was left staring at nothing more than a rain of black mist, which slunk slowly back towards the closet.

Rain rushed over to him, knocking the cupboard as she did so. James had pushed himself to his feet by the time she arrived.

'I've never seen a Boggart act like that. Two Manifestations back to back, that is quite some power, James Potter.'

'Rain, I'm so sorry. That stuff it said, I didn't- I mean, I don't-'

The deep, reverberating sound of ice cracking cut him short. The two of them spun to face the cupboard. The door was ajar, swinging from where Rain had knocked it. The Boggart hadn't been locked away, and the black mist was seeping out onto the floor once more.

This time Rain was directly in the line of fire.

'James, run!' she yelled, pushing him towards the door. He stumbled ahead of her, lunging for the handle, but before he made it a wall shot up from the floor, barring the exit. He spun to see her, rooted to the spot before the cupboard. She reached out a hand towards him, let out a plaintive cry.

A giant, mirrored wall rose up between them, and she was lost to James' sight. All around him the walls rose, each one mirrored, and angled so it appeared that he was trapped in a maze. He rushed towards where he had last seen Rain, but collided with solid glass. Neither fists nor spells could do anything to dent it. He spun to look behind him as a low, grinding sound shuddered through the room. The walls were closing in. He watched in terror, as each time he moved, they would get a step closer.

He froze, his chest heaving. He no longer had enough room to stretch out his full arm span.

As he reigned in the panic and looked around at the myriad reflections facing him, he realised that they were not reflections of himself, but of Rain.

That was when the screaming started.

'Rain!' James called out desperately. He heard the grinding that announced the shifting walls, knew that she must have been moving in her panic. 'Rain, where are you!'

A moment of silence. 'Harry, is that you?'

'Harry? What, no it's me, James. James Potter.'

'James… _Potter?_ Are you the one who has summoned me?'

'What? No, it's your friend. It's me, Rain. It's James!' Desperation was tingeing his voice as he heard the walls on her side closing in. It was like she had lost her mind.

'James? Oh, James! You have to help me James, I- I don't know if I can do it.'

'Just stop moving,' he yelled. 'The walls move if you take a step.'

'This is how it begins, every time James. It's always the same. Can you feel it, the pull? Can you feel them calling your name? Not long, and it will be over. Always the same, always…'

'No one's calling you Rain, nobody is pulling you anywhere. It's just you and me. This is a Boggart, that's all. Nothing more, nothing less.'

He heard the walls shudder once more.

'I can't move anymore James, soon I'll be gone, and I'll do it all again. Do you think I'll be a queen this time, or a tyrant? I hope I have friends, James. I hope I have friends just like you.'

Her gibbering was beginning to scare James more than the mirrored maze they were trapped in. 'You don't need friends like me, Rain. You have me, right here. I'm just behind this wall. If you listen to me these walls will all disappear. They'll disappear and we can leave, and no one will call you anywhere ever again.'

'That's what I hoped when I came back. But they've found me.'

'No one has found you, Rain. Just me, it's only me. The two of us, here in an old classroom. We're at Hogwarts.'

'J-James Potter?' for the first time, her voice sounded normal, laced through with real fear.

'Yes Rain! Listen to me, you mustn't move any more, d'you understand?'

'Mhm.'

His mind raced as he thought about how in the world he would make this into a funny situation. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, and watched as his startling strawberry-blonde locks rippled in response in the mirror.

He shook his head, and the long tumble of hair shook with him. A phantom sensation tickled his cheeks as he swished his hair back and forth wildly. He smiled to himself.

'Rain. I have your reflection.'

'Of course you do.'

'Every time I move or talk, it looks like it's you doing it.'

'That is the nature of this prison – it is mine.'

'Have you ever done a handstand before?'

'That would be most unladylike.'

James surveyed the upside-down Rain in the mirror. His arms wobbled precariously.

'I like your mermaid tights.'

' _James Potter!'_

The scandal in her voice was real. James tumbled to the floor, and felt the walls grind in around him. His breathing quickened, he needed her to _laugh._

'Did you know you can touch your nose with your tongue? I've never been able to do that.'

The cross-eyed Rain in the mirror before him had a face flushed red with concentration.

'Stop it James Potter, this instant!' but he could almost hear the smile in her voice.

'I've somehow managed to mess up your hair. How _do_ you keep it so perfect all the time, is it magic? Let me fix it.'

James aimed his wand at his real hair, attempting a grooming charm for the first time in his life.

'Oh dear, I seem to have turned it yellow.'

A half-hiccup, half-giggle sounded from behind the wall.

'My hair!'

In his excitement, James fumbled his wand, dropping it to the floor with an echoing clatter. He bent down to pick it up, stretching out carefully so as not to take a step and set the walls off. In his reflection Rain's scarf slid free of her neck, exposing rather an alarming amount of-

'James, are you there?'

'Sorry, dropped my wand.'

'Why are you so- _James Potter were you looking down my blouse?'_

'Erm, no…' he straightened hurriedly. Some parts of his reflection took a bit longer to stop moving than he was used to. He jumped up and down on the spot, admiring his reflection. 'I can see why you don't do a lot of jumping. These are _bouncy.'_

The sound that came from behind the wall was perhaps the most un-Rain-like sound he had ever heard her emit. She appeared to be caught somewhere between a guffaw of laughter, a snarl of rage, and a hiccupping sob. The resultant snort that ripped through the silence echoed between the mirrors for a moment.

Then both of them burst out laughing as one. James doubled over, clutching his sides. All around him spiderwebbing cracks began to form in the glass. He sucked in a desperate lungful of air, and the walls shattered, cascading to the ground in a glittering waterfall. He was left, facing Rain, not two feet apart. Their eyes locked for a moment, before she dashed to him, flinging her arms around him in a fierce hug.

She held him for a long time, and James was content to stand there, breathing in her scent and letting the tension of their evening evaporate beneath the warmth of her embrace. Finally, she pulled back, and wiping a tear from her eyes she gave a watery smile.

'Thank you, James Potter. You see, together, we are invincible.'

James didn't mention the trip to face their Boggart to any of his friends. In part, he was a little ashamed that he had struggled so mightily to defeat his own, and in part because he thought that whatever it was that had happened with Rain was something for her to tell. He knew better than to press her so soon after the fact; she would tell him in her own time, and not before.

Her own time was a long time coming, however, as a stormy April blurred into an equally dreary May. Dark clouds hung persistently over the Black Lake, with the now-familiar pastel lightning keeping many a student awake well into the night.

The bad weather only compounded James' disappointment as Gryffindor lost their next quidditch match, to Hufflepuff yet again. Whatever was going on between Lilian and Ryan was beginning to affect their play on the field. They had almost jumped out to a one hundred and sixty point lead – and should have, but for some sloppy communication – before Diana was beaten to the Snitch. Lilian had played outstanding, but the usual fluid chemistry between the three heads of the Hydra was clearly missing. Several passes to and from Ryan went wide, and they botched another pair of goal opportunities late in the match to lose by one hundred eight to two hundred. Three goals shy of obtaining an insurmountable lead.

Ryan was fuming after the game, his post-match speech laden with expletives and harsh words. Lilian was bundled away early by a pair of official-looking women in blazers, further stoking the fire in Ryan's eyes as he glared at them all in disappointment.

'How can you say it's just a game?' Fred moaned, an hour later as they all warmed up around the study room fire, sipping hot cocoa and draped in blankets. Cassie was rolling her eyes, and tried to hide behind her book, but Fred was having none of it.

'Look, we have two games left in the season. We have to win them both now, if we've any shot of winning the cup. We have to go up against Aster Ogleby, and the way the Hydra are playing at the moment they don't stand a chance! If we lose to Ravenclaw, the best we can hope for is to beat Slytherin, and all three of us end up on five wins. Do you know how much we would have to beat Slytherin by to win the Cup? Six _hundred_ points. The way they're playing now, that's impossible. Unless someone kidnapped Mansfield, there's no chance.

'I dunno what the hell has gotten into Ryan lately, but it's like someone kicked his Kneazle. He's angry and sulky and won't talk to Lilian. We're doomed, Cassie, doomed!'

Fred ended his spiel clutching at the collar of Cassie's robe, a desperate look in his eye. James wasn't far off agreeing, the way the Hydra had played today hardly inspired confidence.

'That's rather an impressive feat, keeping track of all those points and wins, Fred. If you paid half as much attention to your classes you might actually pass something.'

Fred looked between her and James, stunned.

'Girls,' he muttered, shaking his head. James, Tristan and Clip all nodded sagely in response.

Rain retired early from their study session that night, and James wasn't far behind. He traipsed up the stairs to Gryffindor tower alone, wallowing in self-pity about Gryffindor's turn of rotten luck, and ruminating on whether he could come up with a plan to help Ryan and Lilian sort out whatever it was between them. So lost in though was he, that he nearly bumped into the shadowy figure that emerged from an alcove before him.

'Potter.'

His heart leapt to his throat. 'Hello Wren.'

'You can't be heading to bed already. It's barely gone seven.'

'I'm tired,' he mumbled in reply.

'Don't care. Enchanting. Now.'

James froze. The others had clearly stated to stay away, and after what they had seen in the past few weeks, James was inclined to agree. But if he went alone… He got the feeling that, without coming out and saying it, Rain had wanted to know more about what he had seen. After all, it had concerned her as much as he or Holly. If he'd just known who or what Renshaw was sending these Guardians after, they might have a better idea of how to act. He looked up and down the corridor, but it was empty.

'The others are sick, but I'll come. I think I'm getting the hang of it.'

'Very well. You might be the only one with an ounce of promise.'

Making sure none of his friends were about to round the corner and see them, James fell in step behind Wren, and they made their way towards the dungeon.


	22. Chapter 22 - Forgotten

Three heavy clunks sounded as Wren carefully placed three wrapped objects on the desk before James. He clasped his hands firmly beneath the table to lessen their shaking.

There was barely enough light to see by in the damp, musty room they shared. The corners of his vision were dull and grainy, the only illumination coming from a small grey orb, floating casually over Wren's shoulder. It made it difficult for James to stare into her eyes. She took a seat opposite him, and James' own eyes darted to the nondescript wrappings between them. None moved beneath the draft that wafted through cracks in an ill-fitting door. He shivered suddenly.

'Are you ready to try something _real,_ Potter?' Wren asked, forgoing her usual scathing preface. There was a tightness to her voice that James didn't like the sound of at all. As if she were waiting for something.

James nodded in silence, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat.

'So far you've shown the greatest inclination for Enchanting. Perhaps it's best that we are alone tonight. No chance of being _interrupted.'_

The way she lingered on the final word caused James heart to buck a little wildly.

She gestured at the first of the wrapped objects, and James reached for it. He slowly pulled away the faded vellum to reveal a smoothed river-stone, featureless and dark grey. It was indistinguishable from any of the thousands that littered the lakeshore. He turned it in his hands, fumbling as it split along a dead-straight, invisible seam down the middle, leaving him with two flattened ovals, each with one side scoured flat and polished, their faces roughly the size of his palm. He looked up at Wren, who was studying him in turn.

'One of the simplest and most useful forms of Enchanting is the Binding. The conjoining of two objects, tied together by the very essence of the magical flux. I want you to Bind that stone back together.'

James asked, despite knowing the reaction he would receive: 'Could this not be done with Permanent Sticking Charm?'

Wren hissed angrily. She twitched, as if she wanted to strike him.

'Of course you _could_ use wand magic,' the derision in her tone was acidic. 'If you wanted a half-done job, an effort that erodes over time and is open to being picked apart by any fool with a wand and a bit of luck.

'Think of casting a wand-magic spell as tying a knot, Potter. You are tying a knot to contort the flow of magic into a shape that you desire, thus you are imposing your will on that tiny part of the magical flux. But it doesn't _want_ to be tied. It is chaotic by nature. It is a _force_ of nature. Like fire and wind, you cannot simply _control_ it in such a basic manner, it is greater than you. And so, over time, it will continue to flow, and pulse with its own heartbeat. Every time that beat thrums it loosens the chains in which you have bound it, until one day it will dissolve completely.

'Life tends towards chaos, Potter, towards dissolution. Even the muggles know this. Magic is no different. It is a conceit of laughable scale to think that we are able to have some lasting impact. Even our oldest works of power are but a shadow of what they once were. How else do you think some upstart megalomaniac could so easily desecrate something so sacred?

'Thus. Magic does not _want_ to be controlled, Potter. It will fight you every step of the way, and so we must entice it, we must ensnare it, and we must _Enchant_ it, convincing it that to flow in the way we desire is exactly what it wishes.'

James struggled internally with the concept of convincing a force of nature – like convincing the _wind_ – that it ought to blow as he directed it. Surely that was what a wand was for. He could just learn a spell and then he could _make_ the wind blow as he wished it…

But if he understood Wren correctly, then she was saying that Enchanting was the act of convincing the wind that blowing in that direction was what _it_ wanted. And if that direction also happened to be the one that filled his sails then, why, that was mere happy coincidence, and could save him from a wealth of heavy wand-work.

And a wealth of unwanted attention, should it come to that. It all sounded complex, dangerous and not a small bit Slytherin. Exactly the sort of thing he would like to have under his belt with a madman running around the countryside and a sociopath Headmistress that may or may not want him dead.

He felt a bit silly fidgeting about with the stones, trying to line the halves up correctly. Wren offered no instruction, merely sitting back in her chair and surveying him above steepled fingers.

When he had the two halves of the stone aligned to his content, he hunched over his handiwork, focusing on them intently. He steadied his breathing, forcing it into a low, consistent cadence at odds with the hammering of his heart.

He knew the real reason for his lesson tonight. As useful as Enchanting may be, there would be other times to learn it, surely. Right now might be the only chance he got to get back into Wren's head, and to find out exactly what she and Renshaw were up to.

The trance-like calmness was a long time in coming. Sweat began to bead on his palms where he held them clenched. Wren's snappish voice telling him to relax did little to help. She seemed just as on edge as he, perhaps anticipating his impending success as a validation of her own prowess.

Eventually he acquired the necessary calm. A low reverberation was sounding deep within his chest, a rapid baritone thrum in time with his flickering heart. He knew it as the rhythm of the music that he must follow for the Enchanting. He knew it as the path he must avoid if he were to see into Wren's memories once more.

He tilted his head upwards, opening his eyes to take in the scene that was now familiar – that of the stairway to the eighth floor.

Yet it wasn't familiar at all.

The colours were all wrong, the light was negative. Shadows were painted in vivid whites, the dull ochre and beige of the stone walls was a jarring, verdant green. James blinked to get the image into focus, but it seemed blurred and grainy no matter how he tried. Thick grey smog drifted rapidly past his vision. He felt as if he were fighting a strong current, struggling to get his head above water to see the vision he needed. The thrumming within his chest gathered in intensity, tugging at his very body. For a brief moment, he thought he saw the shadow of a figure, hooded, a twisted smile on white-washed features, teeth glinting a menacing black. Then the image was lost to him completely.

He came up, spluttering and waving his arms wildly in the chair. Wren's tilted almond eyes studied him, her expression guarded.

'Drowning, Potter? You can't expect someone to be there to throw you a lifeline all the time. Again.'

Her words chilled James, and for a moment he considered up and fleeing the room, but he knew that she locked the doors when class was in session. Ostensibly to avoid intruders, but suddenly that motive was taking on a much more sinister tone.

The trance was even more elusive on the second go-around.

This time James bit down on the panic that arose when he came before the eighth floor. The scene was identical, except that he got no hint at all of the shadowy figure. His heart was racing as he allowed himself to be carried away on the current. His eyes were drawn to the scene like a lodestone, and had to be torn away before he was able to focus on the task at hand.

A task which, he suddenly realised, he had no familiarity with whatsoever. When his vision refocused again, he was merely staring at a washed-out version of the scene he had left before him. Although...

All around him, he could see what looked like tiny motes of golden dust drifting on invisible currents. No, not drifting, _racing,_ to the very beat of the rhythm that he felt in his chest. He could see the flow of this dust all about him. It coated everything, sat heavy and contorted around the other wrapped packages on the desktop.

He watched the smooth path curve over the top of his broken stone, reached out an arm to feel the current against his skin-

And was so startled when his body didn't respond to his wishes that he snapped completely out of the trance and faced Wren once more, spluttering and gasping as if he had just been dredged up from a great depth.

'Little unsettling, no?' her smile was devoid of sympathy. 'We see what we expect to see; I can not tell you how to navigate these seas Potter, the act is individual for everyone who tries. Not that I'd baby you anyway.'

James sneered back, already gathering his focus to dive in once more.

This time he was ready for it, and looked on in silent wonderment as he _felt_ rather than saw his arm movement. He swore that the sensation of the dust running between his fingertips was a real one; it was like the smoothest silk flowing across his hands. He frowned down at his stone, uncertain how to go about mending it. He looked intently at the flow of the current across its smooth surface, and saw the way it flowed through the invisible gap that he knew housed the tiny, hairline fracture. He ran his hands through the current once more, focusing on the quick-fire rhythm in an attempt to find some sort of purchase. It continued to run through his grip, uncaring, until… _there!_

He found it, and the sound blossomed within him, reverberating until he felt his entire body vibrating in time. He held onto that rhythm, making the motions of moving his hands about the rock, feeling at the edges deftly. Despite making no actual movements, when he had finished tracing the perimeter of the stone he sat back, falling out of the trance, this time somewhat more gracefully.

Wren nodded her approval before James had even understood what he had done. He reached out for the rock, astounded to find it perfectly sealed. No amount of prying would pull the pieces apart.

'Well done, Potter. You just Enchanted something on purpose.'

She reached into a fold in her cloak, withdrawing her wand. James jerked in alarm as she levelled it in his direction, but she merely jabbed it at the rock, murmuring _'Enodio!'_

Violent red and gold sparks erupted, and Wren hissed, dropping her wand as if it scalded her. She flexed her hand, clearly in pain, and faced James once more.

'I do not recommend attempting to unravel someone else's Enchantment, Potter. _Especiall_ y not with a _wand.'_

There it was again; she spat the word _wand_ as if it were a curse.

The final two wrapped objects that she had placed on the desk were two more stones, each Charmed with a minor spell. One flickered between green and red, and the other felt cold as an ice-box to the touch.

'Enchanting something that has already been magically altered is a much more difficult task,' Wren assured him haughtily. 'You will see that the Flux is warped and twisted by clumsy wandwork around and within the object, so it will not be as easy as simply melding the two together. If, after all, you are truly creating one object from two, the final product must have both charms remain, intact and undamaged. Pull the wrong thread, and the spells will unravel spontaneously. The results can be disastrous. For something as small as this, likely not fatal, but we can always hope, no?'

With little more than that ominous warning, she let James get to work.

The trance came easier now that James knew what he was looking for. He reined in the rising panic when the visions of the eighth floor were once again warped and distorted. His wonderment at the beauty of what must have been his very own visualisation of the Flux kept him stationary for a moment, before the urgency of the task at hand overcame him.

Warped and twisted, as Wren had said, appeared to be an understatement. James' eyes followed the rushing golden motes around the two Charmed rocks before him with great difficulty. The closer he looked, the more convoluted their paths became, twisting and inverting back in on themselves until he snapped himself out of the trance entirely with crossed eyes and a splitting headache. Wren's smile was cold and self-satisfied, clearly enjoying James' discomfort.

'You're close to achieving something meaningful, Potter. You wouldn't want to give up now and prove me right, would you?'

James filtered out her voice as he sunk back within himself once more. Grim determination was setting in – or perhaps it was a touch of Ginerva Weasley stubbornness. Either way, thoughts of penetrating Wren's mind were becoming secondary as he worked to master this new skill.

It took him four more explosive attempts before he managed to forge some sort of a binding. His first attempt coated the room instantly in a thick veneer of crystalline ice, dropping the temperature and causing their breath to mist before them. Two more equally disastrous failures followed, before finally, smoking from the ears just a touch, James arose from the trance and stared at the stones, sealed back-to-back flawlessly, little green and red ice crystals forming on the frigid surface.

It had been like the most fluid, shifting puzzle he had ever attempted, trying to force two tangled, magnetically opposed knots to occupy the same space. The two rocks felt like a pair of puzzle pieces that just wouldn't _quite_ fit, and every time he attempted to join them, they would change before his eyes, distorting more beneath his increasingly frustrated pushing.

He was breathing heavily, shocked by the realisation that he was waiting in suspense for Wren's recognition of his efforts.

'Passable, Potter. Possessing delusions of competence and grandeur though you are, I should think that even _you_ would realise that this is not a magic performed unless under the most direct of supervision, am I understood?'

James nodded, quietly impressed with his efforts. A yawn crept up on him, unbidden. He briefly wondered what the hour was, it had felt like he had battled with that last Enchantment for an age. His eyes flicked to the locked door once more, and his hackles began to rise. Perhaps now was the time to quit while he was ahead. His thoughts felt fuzzy and leaden, the possibility of making a mistake while trawling through Wren's memories was not one he wanted to entertain.

Wren, however, appeared to sense his weakness.

'No time for rest yet, Potter. You've yet to learn the most important lesson of them all. When the time comes and you invariably make a colossal blunder, you will need to fix your mistakes. Listen up, while I teach you how to un-pick an Enchantment.'

James barely heard her portentous ramblings on broken threads and severed links; his head felt like it was filled with sand, and his eyelids were becoming heavier by the second. When she gestured for him to sink once more into the appropriate trance, he found himself following along, despite having no idea of what he ought to do upon arrival.

He would have yelled aloud, had he possessed a voice; the scene around him blossomed into the very view of the eighth floor he had been seeking all night. This time there was no current tugging at him, no inverted colours or building pressure forcing him onwards. And above all, there, at the top of the stairs, was the hooded figure watching him intently. Even as he stared, an arm unfolded from the cloak and beckoned him on.

He had never interacted with the figure before, not directly. Instinctively, he took a step backwards, fearing a trap. His body collided with a cold stone wall that oughtn't to have been there. The distance between himself and the figure was shrinking, despite neither of them moving a muscle. He saw a second arm unfold, as if to greet him in a familiar hug. That shadowy hood was filling his vision as he unwillingly approached. He opened his mouth to give a shout of alarm, but found his body wouldn't respond. All he could see were the folds of the pitch-black cloak surrounding him. He shrunk back, fighting the embrace, but the moment he felt his skin brush cloth a jerking sensation tugged him from his feet and his view distorted entirely. The scene before them was snatched away.

His vision coalesced much the same as it had the first time he took this journey. His point of view was, again, too tall, sending a momentary wave of disorientation washing over him. He felt his features contort in a snarl, and when his lips moved, Wren's voice spilled forth.

'You want to watch the way you run that mouth of yours White, it could end you in a lot of trouble one of these days.'

A slender figure squirmed in James-Wren's grasp, flashing a confident, toothy grin their way. James tried furiously to orientate himself. The face before him was an unfamiliar one, despite clearly wearing threadbare Hogwarts robes.

They were huddled in a shadowy thicket near the edge of the Forest. The slender boy White was held up against a tree by his throat, feet scrabbling for purchase among the roots and leaves. Out across the lawns a score of small, rickety stands dotted minor rises in the landscape. Streamers and debris dotted the churned grass, and a mass of students were making their way in through the Entrance Hall, milling about nervously at the door.

The scene was a familiar one, however James had previously seen it from a very different angle.

'I don't have it, Wren. You got hoodwinked, well and truly. It's Potter's now, or that shifty-eyed Slytherin's. You know how these things work.'

Despite the compromising position he was in, the boy's voice flowed through James as if it were made from liquid quicksilver. There was a haunting familiarity in its softness.

'Then you helped them get it! There's no way they could have got something so simple past me!'

'Not you, perhaps, but that great oaf you keep around to do your dirty work.'

'He's trustworthy. He's been with me for almost two years, ever since he came to me from, from… you _bastard!_ All this time?'

White's laughter was the joyous chatter of a stream across pebbles. James felt his throat tear as Wren gave an unholy roar, slapping White across the face. The foamy blood at the corner of his mouth brought some satisfaction.

'So then you shot down Potter and took it from him. Thought you'd get the map _and_ the Galleons. Too bad the kid's got heart. And too bad I know how you work.'

White spat a stream of bloody phlegm all over James-Wren's forearm. He felt Wren's body flinch in disgust, but her grip never lessened.

'I'm offended, Wren. You know all of that out-in-the-open business isn't for me, ugly work. And besides, my aim is nowhere near that good. For a student to make that hit, I tell you something, I was mighty impressed, I was.'

'A _student?_ Don't tell me it was…'

'One and the same.' White's grin was dripping crimson. 'When a face shows up that often, it's almost enough to make one stop believing in coincidence. Almost enough to get us to work together, don't you think?'

'I'd kill you first,' Wren sneered.

'You'd never.' There was only a hint of uncertainty in White's voice. 'If you did that all of your secrets would start finding their way to the surface. I'm the only one keeping you above the water as it is, the only one keeping those skeletons in your closet. The real _and_ figurative ones.'

James felt Wren's eyes widen, before she snarled wordlessly, tearing something hard and metallic from within a fold in White's robe, a shining silver brooch. She lashed out, stabbing him in the shoulder with the pin and drawing blood. He hissed, but once again uttered that incendiary laugh.

'It'll be yours in truth, soon enough. Until next time, O Soulless one. I'll be _hanging_ around…'

Wren let him fall to the ground, spinning away in disgust. As she did so the memory began to dissolve around them, but not before James was able to make out the amulet not ensconced in his palm: a glittering, cursive 'L' shining brightly, dripping in thick, bright blood.

The faded red remained, staining the fringes of James' vision as the next memory slowly formed before him. This one he recognised as something far more recent. The thick blanket of roiling, shifting pastel light that sat low over the lake in the distance had announced itself less than a week past. It had refused to move since, and had been the source of speculation across the entire school.

Out of nowhere a pang of nervousness threatened to overcome James for the safety of Kal and her infant son.

The sound of shifting water announced Wren's companion, so well hidden was she in the thick, moonless night. Her breath misted the air before her, the only sign that she was, in fact, alive. Her stance was frozen, and for several long minutes Wren seemed content to merely watch.

Even through the barrier of memory, James thought he could feel the cold creeping in at his extremities. Wren gave a barely suppressed shiver. Enough, it seemed, to draw Renshaw's attention their way.

'Tell me, my darling; this chill, does it not have a whiff of the preternatural to you?'

'I cannot tell, Auntie.'

'It seems, yet again, that our hands are to be forced.'

Wren nodded. James was focusing intently, eager to drink in every modicum of information that he could. A creeping feeling of unease was beginning to steal over him, but he passed it off as a Memory of this mysterious chill that Renshaw had commented on.

There were more important matters at hand.

'So they have broken through, then?'

Renshaw gestured, wandlessly calling up a stream of water from the Lake, which she cupped in a single, gloved hand. She held it to her face, drew deeply from the scent.

'The last Kjalsettr has fallen. As she knew she would.'

James felt himself gasp – his own response as well as Wren's. He was not even afforded the time to grieve, as the conversation pushed mercilessly on.

'Why would she agree to this task?'

'She Saw what is to come. Our goals aligned. In this, at least. She has delivered the message that was required of her by her Gift, and has forestalled events as much as she dared. On both sides of the waves, as it were.'

'Potter listened to her?'

'He knew not that I sent her.'

'If she is fallen, then what must we do now?'

'I will speak with them. Perhaps now, they will listen. They will not be afforded the opportunity to attack my school. Above all else, it must not come to that.'

'She will not go quietly.'

'If I succeed, we may not need her at all.'

James could feel Wren's burning desire to continue her questioning mirroring his own. Almost reflexively, she looked over her shoulder. The castle was steadfast, indomitable behind them. Few lights flickered in windows at what must have been a late hour. A single owl cried mournfully above the trees.

The feeling of unease continued to be shunted aside. This conversation had the feeling of an approaching climax; James knew that he could not afford to miss it.

'You know, I assume, of the locket she bears?'

'Aye. She has been sapping magic from it all year, using it to protect Potter, and herself, pouring it into those scarves.'

'The very same. I am led to believe that I came close to possessing one. Had that occurred, then this...' she paused to wave her hand at the flickering pastel lights, spilling the water that she had held, 'would not be necessary. But now it is too late.'

'They have come too far to be sated by a mere scarf.'

'Correct, dear niece. You know then, what you must do? For when I return, I may do so with haste. You _must_ secure the necklace from her, at all costs. All of this-' this time she gestured behind her, to where the entirety of Hogwarts was sleeping '-may depend on it.'

'I know the what, Auntie, but not the _why.'_

All of a sudden a freezing draft cut through James. Odd, because neither Wren nor Renshaw had reacted.

'And you shall, in time. But _not in the presence of unwanted intruders!'_

Her face turned to James, who tried to scramble backwards. How had she-? He yelled as he was torn from Wren's body. Wren, whose memory he was intruding, simply stood on placidly, as if oblivious. Renshaw's face loomed large, her eyes glowed a lambent fiery red.

James turned and ran, a tearing sensation filling his ears and his mind as the darkness of the castle around him melted away, and the familiar damp smell of the classroom returned in earnest.

He sat, breathing heavily in his chair, his eyes locked with Wren's. A thin veneer of perspiration beaded upon her brow. Her almond eyes were fixed on James, boring into him, pinning him to the chair against his every instinct that was to get up and flee.

Did she know? _Could_ she know? She hadn't last time. Had _Renshaw_ somehow found him out? Countless questions raced through James' mind. He swallowed nervously, ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair

The river-stones still sat atop the table between them. Thinking to play it off as a failed Enchanting attempt, he reached out towards one-

 _WHAM!_

His chair skidded across the tiled floor, slamming up against the wall. He yelled in fright, trying to push himself free, but to no avail. He could not even move his arms. He tried to let out a scream for help, but his tongue jammed into the roof of his mouth and stuck fast. A meagre, muffled grunt was all he could manage.

Wren still hadn't moved from her position.

'What did you see Potter?'

Her voice was quiet, calm. Almost a whisper. Yet somehow he heard it clearly over his grunting and squirming.

'Nngh- nothing!' he yelled as his tongue was freed.

' _Lies!'_

One of the river stones flew into the wall beside his head, shattering an inch from his face. He flinched back, bleeding from several cuts. Blood trickled into his left eye, forcing him to squeeze it shut.

'You thought you could stroll into the mind of the greatest sorceress Hogwarts has seen in generations, and _get away with it?!'_ She punctuated her sentence by rising from her chair. Her footsteps echoed as she approached him.

'I saw nothing!' James yelled again, though he knew lying was no use.

She reached him, bending down to study his face. Up close her tilted eyes were roiling with barely controlled rage. A muscle twitched in her neck repeatedly. She traced a finger along his jawline, finally clenching her fist around his throat, causing James to whimper.

'It matters not, Potter, what you saw. It will all be gone before you leave this room. I can reach so deep into your mind I can tear out your very personality. I can leave you a spluttering, gibbering mess who doesn't even know his own name. I'll take everything you know, everything about your family, about that _wretched_ girl. I'll leave you as nothing, Potter. Then you can take no sides in what is to come.'

She paused, lessening her grip. James gasped in lungfuls of sweet air. His bonds were as tight as ever. Wren loomed large over him, fishing for her wand from within her robe.

'It's about time you learned you're _not_ your father, Potter. There is no prophesy protecting you, no wizarding world cheering you on. You are significant at this stage purely by happenstance. A twist of fate I'm about to relieve you of.'

James watched on in horror as she began to raise her wand.


	23. Chapter 23 - Number

The sound of an ear-splitting crash filled the room, and the wall behind James bucked, tossing him bodily to the floor. Bound as he was, he fell face-first onto the unforgiving flagstone, felt a horrible crunching sound as his teeth hit rock, and tasted the steely rush of blood. Brilliant colours flared in his periphery, and he desperately made to roll over. His vision was swimming, blurred at the edges. His ears rang, and so it was that the figure standing above him spun, tilted drunkenly and fell, all in apparent silence.

A cobwebbed chandelier refused to come into focus above him. The bright lights had faded, leaving a burning afterimage seared into his vision of a figure, back arcing as she fell. He could feel that his bonds were freed, but his arms were unresponsive and sluggish. He coughed suddenly and violently, spitting out a stream of red foam. He had been choking on his own blood.

He knew only pain. Pain and dizziness. He rolled to his side, seeking to get a hand beneath himself to lever upright. Slowly, uncertainly, he made the slow journey to his feet. He saw a figure lying prone beside him, three dark shapes stood at the doorway. He blinked furiously, unable to make out details. Was this, then, what it was like to have all of ones memories taken? Unable even to remember how to see?

He scrubbed a hand across his eyes, instantly feeling a fool as he realised it was merely smoke that had been obscuring his vision. Standing before him, wands drawn and faces fierce, were Holly, Tristan and Rain.

James had never seen a more beautiful sight.

Holly's eyes were fixed firmly on Wren, her wand levelled at chest height, a single streamer of smoke curling from its tip. Tristan wore a wicked grin, and a playful flame snaked its way up his arm to rest upon his shoulder like a loyal familiar. The smouldering door frame behind him was a clear tribute to his work.

And Rain… James had never seen her look so wild. She had her scarf wound around the bottom half of her face but her eyes blazed with an intensity James had never seen. A lucid sea-green, clear as the deepest, most freezing glacial pool. James' own vision locked onto them, and the room around him seemed to glow a little brighter for it, as if her lambent fury alone was enough to light his way.

She made her way towards him first, the others keeping their wands firmly on Wren's still body. James couldn't tear his gaze away from Rain's eyes, and so he fumbled as she pressed something into his hands.

'Drink this,' she urged softly. She pulled the scarf from her mouth, and straightened James' own.

The vial contained something warm and rich and sticky. Heat instantly began to seep through James' limbs, down and out his fingers. As it did so it carried the pain with it, until he was left with little more than a dull thrum behind his eyes.

She fished with something from within the folds of her robe, keeping her body between James and the others. 'Hold this,' she whispered, so soft that only James could hear.

He looked down at her amulet uncertainly. _The_ amulet. The amulet that Renshaw wanted so badly. The amulet which seemed to be the crux of all that was rapidly unfolding around them, a magical object of unknown power or provenance. A half-second glance at the fervent look in Rain's eyes and James wrapped his fingers around it without hesitation.

He felt his scarf grow hot immediately. It felt heavy, as if it were trying to drag him down through the tiled floor. He instinctively made to tear at it, but Rain's hand snapped up to stop him. She held onto him, not looking away until finally the heat subsided, and she gently prised James' fingers loose of the cool, blue gemstone.

'I had to make sure you were unharmed,' she whispered.

'Let's get out of here,' Holly hissed from across the room. Neither she nor Tristan had taken their wands from Wren. 'We got a lucky jump on her, but there's no telling how long she'll be out for.

Rain and James nodded agreement.

Out in the corridor Tristan whistled a bird-call into the gloomy silence. The four stayed frozen until an answering call echoed back toward them. Tension visibly lifted, and familiar faces began to resolve from the dingy corridor.

'Alright then.' Fred's smile in the darkness was all shining teeth and glinting eyes. 'Let's get to work.'

Ten minutes later the group were huddled in an empty classroom. Cassie had sealed the door umpteen times. All eight were gathered in a tight circle, furtive glances darting repeatedly to the entrance. The magically-darkened window prevented the meagre wandlight around which they gathered from betraying their presence to any prying eyes without.

All gazes within the room were locked on James. He could feel their attention like a force, compressing him from all sides. The only sound was the incessant patter of light rain, and his own heavy breathing.

'So Renshaw wants Rain's _locket?'_ Cassie asked, somewhat incredulous. The looks she had been dishing out James' way said that she knew now wasn't the time, but there would likely be a meeting between the two of them and a certain Dragon Book in James' future.

Rain hadn't spoken since he had finished recounting all he could from his trip through Wren's memories. He had felt her tense when he mentioned the locket, and she had taken a long time to release the breath she held while he spoke.

'Yes. Whatever she's up to, it must be dangerous. She must think-' he paused, but Rain offered him nothing, and so he pressed on. 'She must think that the locket can protect her from whatever it is she is doing with the Atlanteans.'

'But _why_ would she think that? And what is she doing that is so dangerous?' James could see the cogs working behind Clips fixed regard. His lips continued to move silently after his question, relentlessly tearing apart this puzzle.

James knew that this wasn't his secret to give. He shot Rain a sidelong glance, anger laced with concern. She was making him go through all of this alone. He hated the idea of giving away one of her most closely-guarded secrets.

As if sensing his building frustration, Rain raised her gaze from the floor, resting a hand gently upon James' upper arm.

'Because this locket saved my life.'

It was little more than a whisper, and instinctively the group leant inwards to hear over the rain. Cassie's mouth was agape.

The tale seemed to take a physical toll on Rain as she told it, and James could do nought but look on as she sagged in her chair, her shoulders slumping, bunching in around herself defensively. Her gaze was guarded, almost challenging, in the silence that followed.

Fred's smile was evil. 'So we keep the locket from Renshaw, and the fish-men carry her away back to their swampy prison. Hit two birds with one spell, I should think.'

James smiled in spite of himself, and the knot of tension that had been mounting between his shoulder blades dissipated just a little.

'We can't just let them get her,' Cassie interjected. 'She's a _teacher._ And wouldn't that be, like, _murder?_ We should tell someone. Professor Longbottom, or Professor Meadows might help us.'

'Why don't you just lend it to her?' Clip suggested. That engendered a round of murmured agreement. More so than attempting to sentence a teacher to death, at least.

'She doesn't want to borrow it.' Rain's voice was tiny. James had the sensation that he was seeing her through a long tunnel, and as she spoke her next words that distance between them became interminable.

'She wants to give it back to them.'

 _Now_ James understood the challenging stare, the defensiveness, and the way that Rain looked so alone, despite being surrounded by the ones she supposedly called friends.

'Give- give it _back?'_ Cassie whispered, aghast.

Giving it back would surely mean that whatever protection it was offering her would expire. Giving it back would mean a return of the sickening black scar that James knew, even now, was fighting to spread its tendrils through her very lifeblood. _Giving it back_ meant that, all of a sudden, the six year sentence loomed dark and deadly once more.

'And let's assume we tell Renshaw where she can stick the locket?' Holly spoke for the first time, her voice tentative.

'Then the Atlanteans will tear this school apart, and all the teachers in Hogwarts combined wouldn't be able to stop them.'

Holly verbalised James' own internal groan.

The leaden silence that followed stretched on and on. The rain built in intensity. Distant thunder could now be heard. James' heart was in his throat. His mind was racing, but it was unable to put forth words that he _knew_ Rain needed to hear. He desperately fumbled for encouragement, for the assurance that, _of course,_ they would all stand with her.

But he couldn't bring himself to do it. He had to look away from the part of him that needed to know if, rather, it was that he _wouldn't_ bring himself to do it. In the face of gambling over a thousand students' lives, James didn't think he could muster the courage.

It came to, perhaps, the least likely Gryffindor to exhibit the most courage of all of them and as Clip opened his mouth uncertainly to speak, a fire seared through James within. He knew he had been too late.

'Is- would it not be better then, to hand it over?'

Clip's eyes shone with tears in the low light. James dug his nails so hard into his palms that he felt blood begin to seep through his fingers.

He tried so hard not to hate Clip for those traitorous, rational words. But, a part of him – a part he could not bear to face – sighed in relief, as it had not been he who had needed to utter them. He tried desperately not to shift his self-loathing on to Clip. This was just a puzzle, James told himself. Clip solved puzzles, that's what he did. This was the easiest way to solve the puzzle; the method with the least risk of bloodshed. The easiest method.

James snuck a glance at a despondent Rain. Was it though, really?

Gryffindors were supposed to be the most brave and loyal of all the houses, but when the brave act _was_ to be disloyal, and to one of his closest friends… The bitter spiral into which his thoughts plunged threatened to overwhelm him.

Beside him, Rain's head hung, dejected. The way her shoulders slumped was so defeated, so _raw,_ like she had known all along. Like she had known that she wasn't good enough to deserve real friends, friends who would, quite literally, risk their lives for her. That last year had all just been some sort of mistake.

He forced himself to look up and meet Clip's eyes. He deserved that much, at least. He tried to keep the animosity from his stare, but from the way his friend flinched when their eyes met, James knew he had not come close.

Cassie was gripping Clip's hand tightly in support. She, too, was crying. James wanted to scream in anguish, as around the circle he saw more tearful agreement than burning defiance.

And so, laying a single shaking, bloody palm on his knee, James pushed himself to his feet, drawing on all of his height.

'No.'

His friends stared at him blankly. Rain remained unmoving. 'We can't – I _won't_ let that happen. I couldn't go back to the Gryffindor common room, after all this is said and done, and ever look at our coat of arms again.'

He slapped his chest emphatically. 'I couldn't wear these robes again. But most of all, I couldn't go back there and look any of you in the eyes again. That's not what it means to be a Gryffindor. That's not what it means to be a Potter. Hell, that's not what it means to be a _friend._ '

Rain still, agonisingly, offered no word in her own defence.

'I used to want nothing more than to be as bold and daring and famous as my father. At our age, he ventured into the Chamber of Secrets to rescue a girl he barely knew. That, alone, could be enough to sway me to do this.

'But now that I'm here, and this is real, none of that matters. Maybe I will never be Harry Potter; there is no world to save, and I sure won't have a Voldemort to kill, but building a legacy is about more than who can do the bravest deeds. It's about being the best person, the best Gryffindor, or Hufflepuff, or Slytherin or Ravenclaw that we can be. Because it wasn't the way that Harry Potter cast the spell to end Voldemort that everyone remembers, it was the way he held the hand of a grieving mother in the hours that followed. It was the way he convinced Uncle Ron that he was a Keeper worthy of winning the Quidditch Cup, or the way he snuck into Aunt Hermione's room on her wedding day and talked to her until she could stand up without vomiting.

'These are the things that truly make him great; these moments shared, and the people with which he shares them. Because he wasn't _truly_ Harry Potter without his friends by his side. And…' James hesitated only a moment. 'I can't do this without you all at mine.'

Tristan cracked his knuckles loudly. 'Well then, I'm about ready to get to work.'

Fred stood less than a second later. 'I knew there was a reason I'd worn my swimming trunks.'

James turned his gaze to Clip. It was far more pleading that it was accusatory. Clip didn't hesitate in raising his hands.

'It was never an argument, James. I'm with you. We're _all_ with you, no matter what.'

James took Rain's hand, gently helping her to her feet. To her and only her, he whispered, 'I'd trade this castle for you in a heartbeat.'

The rest of the group rose, and they turned towards the door, ready to face all that could be thrown their way.

As one.

Rain led the way once they were out in the hall. The group were content to follow in silence, for now. Rarely did she reveal her plan before it was necessary. Her strides were purposeful, her gaze directed forwards. A small worm of doubt gnawed at his self-confidence. He still didn't know what it was that made this locket so special.

They paused. Rain had frozen at an intersection. Footsteps could be heard echoing up from the corridor on their left. It was well past curfew; the only ones about ought to be prefects and teachers. A pair of shadows stretched around the corner before their owners. Prefects and teachers would have no cause to be _jogging_ if they were on a mere routine patrol.

Rain grabbed a fistful of James' robe and yanked him down the passage directly ahead, desperate to put a blind corner between themselves and the unwanted company.

'Oi, you little'uns!'

'That's _Potter,_ and the Freak!'

'Potter! Get over 'ere, The Enchantress wants a word with you. And she looks _pissed!'_

The second-years bolted. Behind them, Prefect's badges glinted on the lapels of their two pursuers.

' _Petrificus Totalus!'_

James winced, waiting for an answering cry from one of his friends, but none came. They were haring along the long, narrow corridor, without even a suit of armour to hide behind.

'Up ahead-' Rain hissed, ducking a jet of purple light that tugged at a strand of red-gold hair. 'Go left. All of you. Meet at the Lakeshore, beyond Hagrid's hut. James and I need to make a detour.'

Tristan nodded his understanding, and bundled up Cassie and Clip under each arm, dive-rolling through the narrow passageway as soon as it presented itself. Fred and Cat followed suit. Holly lingered long enough to shoot something enormous and silver out the end of her wand before she, too disappeared from sight. Her spell ricocheted wildly down the corridor, causing the Prefects to halt progress momentarily. James felt something pressed into his hands and looked down to see Wren's Map. Before he could look up Holly had disappeared, and Rain was dragging him on at a frantic pace.

They carried on as such for three agonizing floors, until Rain finally eased off the pace in a dimly lit corridor home to little more than shabby broom closets and sleeping portraits.

'Did you mean what you said, James Potter?'

James didn't have to ask what she was talking about. 'I'd burn the castle down to keep you safe.'

Her silence seemed content. She spoke again once they reached the end of the corridor, standing beneath a low archway. 'What do you think it will be like, to rule a world?'

'Huh?'

'Oh nothing. Just musing, James Potter. Left here.'

'Mhm. What's with this detour, anyway?' James tried to hide the wheezing in his voice. He had been labouring under the impression that Quidditch practice ought to be keeping him in peak physical condition.

Portraits and doorways darted past once more as they picked up the pace through the populated sections of the castle, dashing onwards and upwards, ever upwards.

'I have a plan.'

'Well _that's_ a relief.'

James thought he could actually _feel_ Rain rolling her eyes as they took three quick lefts on the sixth floor, somehow without ending up where they had originated from.

'We need to get into Renshaw's office.'

The sound James made was somewhere in between a strangled Kneazle and a trod-on Pygmy Puff. Rain hurriedly hushed him with a hand to his mouth. They were forced to freeze thus, as a sleepwalking Ravenclaw fifth-year trundled past them, mumbling gently to herself about a part of Professor Longbottom James would rather not envisage.

When the coast was clear once more, James resumed his outraged stare in earnest.

'Have you gone _insane?'_

'Thirty seven times. But if you refer to today, then no.'

Her hand was still covering James' mouth. So he licked it.

' _Eurgh!'_

'Just trying to channel a bit of crazy myself. Trying to get on your level, because from where I'm standing, going into Renshaw's office is the worst possible idea _in the world.'_

This time James _could_ see Rain roll her eyes. She gestured for him to follow, before starting off at a brisk walk. He unfolded the Map, using it to ensure their route was free of any hunting Prefects.

'Do you remember a few months back, following a Quidditch game, when an artefact of foreign magic was found within Hogwarts grounds?'

'The ice spear?'

'Exactly. It might be our only hope of ending this without handing over the locket.'

James groaned audibly. 'Are we going to stab them to death? How do we even get _in_ to Renshaw's office, isn't it sealed?'

The Map seared hot for a moment in James' hand, and he shoved Rain a little unceremoniously down a dusty spiral staircase, just as a pair of low voices sounded from the corridor they had vacated. They wound the tight spiral by the light of their wands alone for long moments, James having to stifle multiple coughing fits from the disturbed dust.

'Remember Annecke?'

'The girl who could give _you_ lessons about being the next Voldemort-to-be?'

'The girl who spent an entire night stunned, staring at the entrance to the Headmistress' office. She was actually rather fond of you, James Potter.'

'How do _either_ of those things help us?'

'She saw students coming and going. Prefects delivering reports. She saw Victoire enter. It's a simple hand movement; the passage isn't sealed. It's Charmed to open when shown your _student number._ '

Right on cue, James felt his own flash hot against his skin. He winced instinctively, clutching a hand over his forearm. A tightness in Rain's eyes signalled that she had felt it, too.

And like a morning frost beneath a firm _Incendio,_ James' reservations about heading to the Headmistress' office melted away.

'Then let's go,' he nodded firmly.

If Rain thought his sudden acquiescence unnatural, she said nothing of it. When they set off once more to the music of the thunder outside, both their footfalls and their goals were firmly in step.

Just as Rain had said it would, the gargoyle gave way beneath James' rolled-up sleeve. The faintest hint of scarification marred the pale flesh of his forearm. The numbers "769" slowly faded from view, even as he watched.

His newfound eagerness pulled him onwards up the spiral staircase, impatient at its seemingly glacial progress towards the great oaken doors.

Renshaw's office was pitch dark when they entered. Outside, rain was now hammering against the window panes, thunder and lightning were coming several times a minute, momentarily lighting up the room in a dizzying monochrome flare of jagged light and sinister shadows. Rain sent a softly glowing orb to hover above the midpoint of the room, offering just enough light to see by, but leaving the corners of the room crowded with swirling dark unknown.

James dragged his feet as their search began. He couldn't put his finger on why, exactly. He had been so eager to be here not two minutes ago, but now that they _were_ here, he thought perhaps he might take a seat. He'd always wondered how comfortable that chair looked. He hissed in pain as he stubbed his toe on a desk-leg, causing Rain's attention to snap back to him.

'James' she hissed. 'What in Merlin's name are you doing? Get over here and help me with this.

But James didn't want to. He wanted to sit in the chair. He shot Rain a sulky look, crossing his arms defiantly. He didn't know why she was in such a hurry all of a sudden. If they just waited a few moments longer, then… _something_ was going to happen.

He wasn't sure exactly what that something was, but it was something that he wanted very much. It must have been, or else why would he be settling in to the chair like he owned the office, pretending to direct his servants and minions around before him, waving his wand and chuckling with childish glee.

Any minute now, he would discover the secret of why he was here. Of just why he was so happy and content. He stretched lazily. A nap might actually not be a bad idea…

A sudden crash and a furious curse from Rain interrupted James' stupor. He turned, frowning. He had been about to drift off.

'Hey, could you keep it- _eerck!'_

Rain had grabbed him bodily by the scruff of the neck, and was sprinting towards the entrance as fast as she could. Her eyes were wild, her breathing erratic. James yelled as they made to leave. They _couldn't_ – at least not yet. _It_ hadn't happened yet.

The door flew open before them at a mere gesture from Rain. Iron screamed and splinters fell to the floor. The spiral staircase was unlit, and the portal remained a mass of inky blackness, in spite of a lightning strike illuminating the room around them.

Rain halted before dashing through, seemingly uncertain about what lay beyond that suddenly impenetrable veil. James found his feet, already stealing back towards that awfully comfortable chair. He gasped as the most brilliant flare of lightning yet lit up the entire castle. This time it was a pale pastel blue, and the light lingered long after the original flash.

But it was not the lightning at which he was gasping. As his eyes fell upon the figure before them, he felt whatever glamour he had been under tumble away, and the fierce hammering of his heart that he had been ignoring for so long threatened to overwhelm him. Rain's eyes were no longer frantic, and her slumped shoulders spoke wholly of defeat, as she turned around to join James in staring.

Dripping wet from head to toe, clad entirely in black, and leaning casually up against her great mahogany desk, was Galatea Renshaw. And her smile was murder.

* * *

 _A/N: Don't hate Clip. In case you haven't worked it out, he doesn't deserve it._


	24. Chapter 24 - Frost

James felt as if he couldn't look away. From the corner of his eye he saw Rain, similarly transfixed. The light in the room was dim, and the long shadows cast across Renshaw's face allowed the malevolent gleam of her eyes to conjure images of James' demise in his own mind. His throat felt tight, he couldn't bring in enough air to form words. The only sound in the room was a steady _drip, drip_ of water falling from Renshaw's sodden form, pooling slowly at her feet.

'Do you know the beauty of having every student assigned their own unique identification number, James Potter?'

Her voice was silky smooth, with an exaggerated lilt. As her words washed over him he felt them cleanse the rigor in which he had been gripped, and he puffed his chest defiantly.

' _Branded,_ you mean.'

'Merely an unfortunate means to a necessary end, I assure you. The benefit, James Potter, is that I am made aware of every checkpoint and restricted access-way that each student passes through. Take, for example, the entrance to the Headmistress' office. It's a security measure I brought back from America. The Board of Governors were only too happy to implement the added security measures, what with the _Desecrator_ on the loose.'

James scowled down at the offending spot on his forearm. He felt his anger and frustration unfurling within his chest.

'Just like, for example, I know that not long ago a small group of your friends left the castle. Now, on a night like this, I don't think it was for a harmless evening stroll, was it?'

A searing bolt of lightning tore the sky apart as if to punctuate her sentence. The attendant thunder caused the windows to shudder.

James just scowled in response.

'As such, I've sent a team of prefects out to gather them up. Tonight, of all nights, isn't one to be strolling around in the dark unaccompanied, James Potter.'

James looked across to Rain, who had been silent through all of this. Her gaze was cast down at the floor, a picture of defeat. He felt a flare of annoyance at her, unwilling to speak up to defend herself.

The steady _drip, drip_ continued into the silence, almost comically loud despite the torrential rain without. The pool of water beneath Renshaw was growing such that it had almost bridged the gap between her and Rain. In fact, its verge was right at the point where Rain's eyes were fixated…

James had visions of the start of the year, and a slow gathering tide of water coalescing around the body of a second-year girl as she stared down first Odette, and then the very Headmistress she now faced. She had never unleashed whatever power the water possessed, but if there was ever a time for her to try again, this was it. James saw a bead of sweat roll down Rain's cheek, and he realised that he desperately needed to keep Renshaw's focus on himself.

'And what are you going to do, hand us all over to the Atlanteans?' he spat. His voiced was thick with anger. He told himself it wasn't in order to cover the fear.

Renshaw laughed, as if he had just suggested the sky was green, or Voldemort was good.

'James, _darling,_ I'll do no such thing. I'm the headmistress of this school. I will _always_ do everything in my power to protect her students.'

'Is that why you let your own _niece_ do this?' He gestured angrily to his bruised face and split lip, which leaked a single bead of blood down his chin as he snarled at Renshaw. From the corner of his eye he noticed the puddle of water no more than a hands' length from Rain's shoe.

For the first time, Renshaw looked as if she had been caught off-guard.

'Wren-? Well, I had made it clear I didn't approve of her methods. But-'

'It was just another means to an end? Let her bully students just so she can spy on them for you?' Real anger was taking over now. The more of a scene James made, the more Renshaw's attention would be diverted his way. He could see the white-knuckled grip Rain had on a bunch of her robes. _More time,_ it told him.

'Or what about removing memories from Holly and I? What was the _end_ there? We-'

' _Enough!'_

Her voice cut through a long, rumbling roll of thunder, silencing James instantly. 'I act always and _only_ for the best interest of the students of this school, and the greater wizarding community of Britain, James Potter. Despite your over-inflated sense of self-worth that your heritage has provided you, I do _not_ , in fact, answer to a twelve-year-old child.

'There are events occurring now that you know nothing about, that would make even your scruffy hair curl. That you are ignorant of them does not grant you clemency to storm in here and demand I do things your way.'

The room flared beneath an onslaught of shimmering pastel light. Outside the window tattered ribbons of pinks and greens shimmered low, out over the Black Lake. They cast the grounds in a ghostly, ethereal light, and the rain hammering against the windows glowed like molten droplets.

Inside the room, James' heart skipped as he saw the toe of Rain's boot left a tiny indent in the rim of the puddle of water.

'Now,' Renshaw straightened, adjusting her grip on the pearlescent Atlantean spear. 'We are going to-'

The crack of a whip split the air in the room, and James was thrown bodily back against the wall. He watched as, with a mere flick of her wrist, Rain sent jets of steam arcing up off the trail of water that joined her and Renshaw. In the space between two heartbeats he watched the steam rush towards the headmistress, a buffeting gale picking up from nowhere, edging it onwards.

The steam roiled on the magical currents, and James imagined he could see hands, reaching eagerly forwards. A look of shock was writ momentarily on Renshaw's features, and a high-pitched whistling sound, like a kettle boiling, filled James ears. To him it sounded gleeful, as the steam crashed down, obscuring Renshaw with a final, dull _boom._

James had to clap his hands to his ears, which rang incessantly, drowning out all sounds now. He had instinctively closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he saw – not Renshaw enmeshed in bonds of steam – but a soft patter of ice crystals gently cascading to the ground. The temperature in the room had dropped well below freezing, and his breath misted before him, coming in short, sharp bursts.

The jets of steam which had sprouted from the puddle of water were now frozen as a series of knife-like icicles, jutting upwards ruggedly between Renshaw and Rain. In Renshaw's hand was the spear, glowing softly, its tip levelled at Rain's chest.

The water on Renshaw's robes had similarly frozen, and in the low light it shifted and gleamed like pearlescent armour.

The pair locked gazes. James briefly considered raising his own wand, but felt well out of his depth. Something passed between them; the corner of Renshaw's lips quirked up in a smile. Rain's hand darted towards her necklace, but a twist of the spear in Renshaw's hands send a wave of ice leaping hungrily to ensnare her, snapping both arms to her side, rigid. Through it all Rain uttered not a word. The look she gave Renshaw was one of a cornered animal.

James tightened the grip on his wand.

'I should think not, Mister Potter.' Spear still levelled, Renshaw was _smiling._ It was beginning to occur to James that this woman might not be wholly sane.

The next sentence she addressed to Rain. 'So you show your hand again, Miss Rain, and again you are found wanting. Thus, you remain answerable to me, and thus, we will do this _my_ way. Now come, let us go and do just that. I do believe you've made us late.'

Feeling utterly helpless, James let Renshaw lead himself and a subdued Rain down through the castle and out into the night.

The rain lashed James' face in stinging, driving droplets. Within the space of a dozen steps he was soaked through. Renshaw was unfazed, and strode on confidently through the crowding darkness, despite visibility being less than a few metres in any direction.

She had not taken James or Rain's wands, but her sheer confidence – the way she walked with her back to them in the darkness, signified to James that anything he tried would be over as soon as the thought had formed in his mind.

Rain walked in silence, a picture of utter desolation and exhaustion. Her hands were buried in the folds of her scarf clutching, James knew, the very locket over which this battle was being waged.

They were walking into a cutting wind which bit and slashed at James' exposed skin with teeth of pure ice, rolling in off the lake. In the distance, the swirling miasma of pastel colours was their only source of light. Even as they walked, James thought he could see it drawing nearer over the inky black surface of the Lake.

They slipped and slid their way down the castle grounds, coming to a halt just within the boundaries of the Forbidden Forest, in a thickly treed section of lakeshore. Within the cover of the canopy, even the far-off pale light over the lake was supressed, leaving a total darkness in which James blinked furiously to be able to see. Thick, fat raindrops fell from the leaves, slapping down wetly onto the churned, muddy forest floor.

Renshaw lit her wand, revealing a scene that made James' heart fall. From out behind the trees around them stepped a handful of prefects, each with a struggling second-year in their grips. Cat's hair was a thick, matted curtain of mud. Clip sported an impressive black eye, and the prefect holding Cassie had to take her weight, as it appeared she was unable to stand on one of her legs.

'Where's Brooks?' Renshaw barked to the group.

A tall slim figure stepped forward, brushing hair from his face. His dusky skin reflected Renshaw's wandlight dully. He held a bundle of familiar wands in one hand.

'She ran off,' he growled, looking somewhat sheepish. 'We sent Frankie after her.'

Renshaw pursed her lips. The prefect flinched at the mere gesture. 'Well then I suggest you send out a search party for Miss Francine immediately. You'll find her face down in the undergrowth, I should imagine.'

'From a _second-_ year?'

Renshaw's withering gaze caused the boy to wilt before her. With a final swish of his sodden hair, he gestured, and the prefects holding Cassie, Cat and Clip lit their wands and set out together. Their heavy footfalls and shouts were quickly lost amidst the sound of the rain.

James felt a stab of worry for Holly.

With a complex jab-and-twist of her wand, Renshaw erected a dome over the students to keep the rain off of them. Immediately, the biting wind began to chill James, until a second motion blocked out even that. The silence that waxed in the absence of the weather seemed to press inwards on James' ear drums. He hugged himself, shivering still.

'James Potter.' Renshaw's voice echoed into the dome, as if the group stood within a vast hall. Despite speaking his name, her words were clearly not directed at him. He took a half-step closer to Rain, stood shoulder-to-shoulder, defiant. 'There were perhaps a handful of students brave or conceited enough to follow you last year. Imagine my surprise, when again I find the pair of you complicit in another scheme endangering the students of Hogwarts.

'If it wasn't for James Potter, last year would have ended very differently, as we both know. If it wasn't for James Potter, one of the two of us would likely not be here today.'

James' eyes were darting between Renshaw and Rain. He had the distinct feeling that the majority of this conversation was taking place outside his realm of understanding. The things that Renshaw was hinting at seemed too far-fetched to marry up with his comprehension of events.

'And so, with a bevy of half-truths, pointed insinuations, and outright lies, you have sold the plight of the innocent victim to perhaps the only soul who would buy it.' Here Renshaw turned her gaze upon James, and in it James was shocked to see something akin to a sad sympathy.

'And are you not the perfectly fertile soil upon which to sow seeds for such tangled, grasping roots? It is ever the curse of the son to be measured against the deeds of his father – at least in his own eyes. None more so than you, James Potter, whose footsteps must echo so hollowly in the vast caverns carved by the deeds of your forebears.

'What joy, when the perfect victim should present herself so readily to you! And with the swirling conspiracies of a dark witch or wizard stalking the world again, it must have-'

'Enough!' James' voice echoed around the dome mockingly, sounding hollow and childish. Renshaw snapped off her patronising speech mid-sentence, tapping the spear to her lips, as if in mock-thought. 'The only legacy from my father that hangs over me is something he told me as soon as I was old enough to understand: Always fight for what you believe in.

'And I believe in a world where teachers will help their students; where they won't hold them hostage in a hospital all summer; where they don't steal memories from them; a world where nobody sentences a twelve-year-old girl to death. My father fought Voldemort from the moment he walked through those castle doors. He was a child, and he was asked to carry the burden of a hundred men. If it falls to me to fight against people like you trying to send us back to a time when this all started, then so be it; I'll take that burden, because you will not _ever_ harm my friends.'

Renshaw was silent a long moment; she had frozen, the spear pressed firmly against her dark-painted lower lip. The faded pinks and greens glowed with a coruscating inner light that beat like a heart, in time with the illumination that was approaching them over the Black Lake.

'At times I wonder what the wizarding world would look like if it had been _you_ to face down Voldemort, in place of your father. Your passion and gift for rhetoric may have risen an army in truth to fight off the darkness. But-' and here Renshaw gestured very pointedly to Rain 'your proclivity to be seduced by power might in turn have given us a world in which we lived under the rule of _two_ Dark Lords.'

The fury that boiled over in James almost set him to charging bodily at Renshaw – wand entirely forgotten. All that kept him in place was Rain's grip on his hand. It was like a vice, rooting him to the spot.

'But I merely digress. We have guests approaching, and they require recompense.' Renshaw made a snatching motion with her hand, and Rain let out a whimper as the golden chain on her locket snapped clean. The fat, glowing sapphire slipped deftly between her fingers and into Renshaw's outstretched hand.

The aurora over the Lake had covered more than half the distance to them by now. At its fore was an angry bubbling and roiling, as if an agitated school of fish fled its grasp. Renshaw frowned at that momentarily.

'If you do this, you'll kill her,' James' voice came out as more of a plea than he would have liked.

'And if I don't? I put the lives of over a thousand students at risk. Does the concept of Greater Good mean nothing to you, Potter? How can you reconcile such an act, placing this single life above every single soul in that castle? See how she has poisoned your mind?!'

'There's another way!' James screamed, desperate. 'She knows-'

'She knows nothing! She would risk all this and more for a chance at survival, for she knows that this time, there is no coming back!'

Beside James, Rain visibly stiffened.

Small waves began lapping at the muddy shoreline, leaving overlapping, cascading echoes that added a confusing backdrop to their yelled conversation. The prefects holding the second years began to cast a few nervous glances between themselves.

'I'll not stand aside and let you do this,' James growled.

'You have no choice. Do you understand what this is? This innocuous stone, this _family heirloom?_ It is the very Crux through which the entire power binding the Atlantean prison is channelled! Wrested unwillingly from the Atlantean Sepulchre, jarring loose the Bindings on the entire Atlantean populace. Your _friend_ has since been channelling whatever Dark virulence that assails her into this very Binding, driving Dark magic down into every crack and crevice, forcing it apart at the seams until the stability of the Atlantean Prison itself is now at stake.

'A prison which holds at bay scores of non-human denizens, twisted by corruption and countless years trapped, betrayed. Further assailed by this latest influx of Dark magic. If she keeps this up the Prison will break, letting loose a Hell unparalleled by anything the Wizarding world has seen before. Thus, James Potter, I ask you once more. Will you put this one girls' life ahead of the entire Wizarding community?'

James was left momentarily reeling from this barrage of new information. How had Rain acquired such a powerful object, and was it true that she might unleash the wrath of trapped Atlantis? Did she _know_?

That was probably the more important question, and the one upon which his decision would hinge. He studied her from the corner of his eye, his chest heaving. His wand was limp in his off-hand, Rain's grip on his right had not diminished. She looked from Renshaw to James, and gave the tiniest shake of her head. _Lies._ The thought came to James unbidden, and he was startled by its appearance. But _who_ was lying? A friend whom he had sworn to stand with against all, in the face of whatever he might hear, who then may have been working in Dark Magics without telling him? Or a Headmistress who made a habit of tagging her students and stealing memories from their own minds, but insisted she was acting for the greater good of them all?

He released his grip on Rain's hand, heard the startled catching of breath in her throat. All around them, he saw his friends stiffen, their eyes locked on his movements. He switched his wand to his right hand, and took a single step. It was all that was needed.

He put himself between Renshaw and Rain.

Renshaw snarled viciously. 'This desire to be a hero will get you killed, Potter. And not for a cause you'll want to remember!'

He saw her eyes dart to a spot above his shoulder, and instinctively James ducked beneath a silver jet of a Disarming spell fired by the dark-skinned prefect who seemed to be in charge. He straightened to face the new attacker, Rain by his side, but they were surrounded, and the moment their attention was snagged, a pair of Body-Bind Curses hit them in the back, and they tumbled to the ground, landing with a wet _thunk_ on the sodden turf.

James watched desperately, his view of the world turned side-on as Renshaw turned to face the lake. He could feel the cold, slick wood of his wand still tucked into his right palm, useless as it was, pressed against his own body. Beside him Rain's breathing was frantic.

The last look Renshaw favoured him was one of pity. A look that told him she was more upset with him for making her have to do this, than anything else. The kind of exasperated half-smile that his mother often got when he was at his most stubborn. He tried in vain to scowl back.

Her face quickly turned to confusion, however, as she faced the Lake. Where before gentle waves had been lapping, large breakers now crashed, and the tattered streamers of pastel light were held momentarily at bay, as a large wall of water was gathering. A pronounced bulge in the surface of the lake housed a series of dark, shifting shapes – the Atlanteans?

A particularly large wave managed to douse James in spray, and his shivering began anew. Over the sound of his teeth chattering, he heard a voice roll in across the waves.

'Galatea Renshaw, your puppet is dead. The last Kjalsettr has fallen, we no longer answer to you.'

James couldn't be certain, but he thought he heard Renshaw mutter something along the lines of 'Oh, shit…'

'Too many of our spawn-mates have fallen, fighting the Atlanteans as you do nothing but bide your time to play your pathetic human games. No more! For this highest of treacheries against us, we demand the price of your life in retribution! What say you?'

'Wait!' Renshaw called out to the stormy night. It was the first time tonight that James had heard her sound anything other than in complete control – she had clearly not accounted for this Mermish uprising at the eleventh hour. 'There are children here! Let me deal with the Atlanteans, and then exact your price.'

What James thought to be a long, rolling boom of thunder crashed over them, until he realised it as laughter from the shapes within the colossal wave which now overshadowed them. 'And do you think any of _our_ children have been spared in this bloody war?'

With that, James watched in horror as the wall of water – now entirely blocking out the shifting light of the Atlanteans – descended upon them, centred on the very spot where Renshaw stood.

The first thing James felt was a heartbeat of driving rain and biting cold, as the water crashed through their protective dome. He saw Renshaw bring up her arms in defence, the spear held high. A section of the wave carrying the greatest force froze solid mid-break, but the surrounding water thundered down around them, and all was chaos.

James felt something shove him into the ground with the force of a fully-grown giant. He felt mud fill his mouth and nose, only to be purged by floods of water, forcing its way down his mouth, into his lungs. He tried to cough, but drew in only more water. He was lifted bodily on a current, the spell on him shattered, and his limbs careened wildly about. His left arm smashed up against something solid – a tree – and the hand went numb. He fumbled for the spot where Rain had been lying, but came away with a handful of grass.

A brief burst of air, and James was thrown into the waiting arms of a blackberry. The branches tore at his exposed skin and robes, leaving bloody streamers in the water around him. A second wave approached, and James lunged to his feet to avoid it, starting off uphill, away from the Lake, deeper into the Forest.

He could see nobody around him. Snatches of shouts drifted to his ears intermittently, picked up on the driving wind, tossed this way and that. He stumbled on through the darkness, wiping the rain and blood from his eyes in vain before he judged the distance safe enough to light his wand. He saw no landmarks that he could recognise, did not even know in which direction was the castle. He felt helpless, worse than useless. He had lost Rain, the spear and the Necklace – all three of which he needed if he had any hope of succeeding. Another thunderous boom announced a third wave crashing into the shore, and a pang of worry struck him for all of his friends. The way Cassie had been moving on that leg, there was no way she could outrun that deluge.

Tears joined the blood, mud and rain that ran in streams down his cheeks. He scrubbed at them angrily, succeeding only in blurring his vision further. The wand in his right hand was all that he could feel beneath the biting cold, and he gripped that firm wood, taking solace in its solid feel, its unyielding loyalty. He took a step back the way he had come. He had friends to rescue.

'Well, well. If it isn't Potter himself.' It was the leader of the Prefects, stepping out from behind a tree and holding a wand levelled at James' chest. 'Your Daddy's going to be mighty upset to see you've been messing with dark Witches, Potter. We all knew that Rain girl was trash. The next Voldemort, some reckon. Pity she's too dumb to outsmart us; we saw right through her. She's a freak, everyone can see it. They all are, that lot down there. _If_ there's any of 'em left now.'

His bitter laughter brought a Disarming charm leaping from James' wand, directed square at his chest.

It was sidestepped with ease. The nameless prefect squared off against James. _I don't have time!_ James desperately thought. ' _Diffindo!'_ James launched a Cutter at the branches above the prefect's head, darting off into the darkness in the confusion.

He ducked and weaved through boles of thick trees, stumbling on snagging, grabbing shrubs and roots. Vines snatched at his clothes and bit at his bare skin. Jets of spellfire shot over his head, sizzling against trees or fizzing out in the darkness.

'You're mine, Potter!' came the haunting cry from behind.

James twisted to fire off a powerful Leg-Locker, which did little more than explode a branch into a shower of twigs and fibre. His pursuer rounded a particularly wide Fir tree, a spell on his lips that James was helpless to deflect. He threw up his arms, knowing it was useless, hearing the shout and seeing a burgeoning light in his vision.

James yelled in pain, as he trod on something soft, sending him crashing to the ground. His elbow collided with a root, sending the wand flying from his arm. The spell went over his head, but now James was unarmed, helpless as the figure approached.

'Nice try Potter. This one's going to leave you with a headache tomorrow.

' _Stupef-erk!'_

One moment the prefect had been there, the next he was gone, thrown bodily through the trees, head-over-heels, to land painfully in a distant bush. No more noise came from that direction.

The next figure to appear wore an ear-to-ear grin, and mud drawn across her face as war paint. The mad gleam in those pale grey eyes was the most beautiful thing James could remember seeing.

'Holly Brooks, have I told you lately that I-'

'You're not fishing for _another_ kiss, are you James?' she laughed as she hoisted him to his feet.

James' eyebrows rose as she kicked the squishy figure over which he had tripped. It emitted a low groan – another of the prefects. James ran a hand through his hair in a mixture of embarrassment, relief and sheer admiration.

'Here.' Holly handed him his wand from the undergrowth. She let out a hiccup of excitement as James took it that could almost be mistaken for a giggle. 'It looks like once again we've got us a day to save.'

* * *

 _A/N: The next chapter won't have such a lengthy delay - I have merely been away travelling abroad for the past month. See you then, J_


	25. Chapter 25 - Gold

She awoke to a world of enervating cold and stabbing, bone-grinding pain. Cassandra levered herself up on shaking arms from the puddle into which she had been ragdolled. She had to blink repeatedly to clear her eyes from blurring moisture, and she couldn't tell if it was mere water or tears.

Several bodies lay scattered about her, but she could do little to help in her current state, and so she sat, hugging herself meekly, her body wracked with incessant shivers and intermittent hiccupping sobs, the only other sound in the clearing to play a jarring melody with the calming waves.

Slowly, the others began to stir. Kattala clutched her knees tightly to her chest, her long curtain of hair obscuring her features. Tristan propped himself up against a tree trunk. Blood flowed freely from his temple and his eyes stared blankly out over the Lake. Clip had been floating out on the surface of the water. He splashed to the shoreline and flumped down among mud-coated stones. The driving rain sheeted off his brow, unnoticed. Fred was nowhere to be seen.

The four of them shared the small clearing, sat at each point of the compass. Each was less than a handful of paces from the other, but for that moment each was wholly and unequivocally alone.

Cassandra allowed thoughts of defeat to envelop her in that moment of solitude. On a deep, buried level a small part of her was satisfied, for she had been right, after all. She was _not_ cut out for this. She had known it from the beginning. She had amassed eleven years of empirical evidence to the fact that she was not the adventuring sort. And then somehow she had thrown that away within days of meeting James Potter. She had tried to tell herself that it had been a decision based on more than the fact that she had longed to make up for the long years of friendlessness that had been her Muggle schooling. She had argued and rationalised into the small hours many a night of that first year, warring with that logical part of her that insisted this life wasn't for her.

But her grades had, if anything, improved; she had spent more than her allotted time studying and she had discovered a base, almost primal sense of enjoyment that she had decided came from the pleasure of good company, of belonging. She looked around the clearing at the tattered remains of those to whom she professed to belong.

She had failed all of them, because she had been too scared to tell them that she was, in fact, an outsider in their midst. As she studied their blank faces and inward, defeated gazes, she knew that they were all thinking the same.

She would have to leave the group; it was the only logical decision. Once they got out of this – _if_ they got out of this – she would have to tell them. More tears began mixing with the rain running down her face. She scrunched up her eyes so hard until she saw bright lights, snapping them open again only when she heard movement in the clearing.

Clip was levering himself to his feet unsteadily. The rain was plastering his hair to his forehead, and the way his robes clung to his slender frame made him appear tiny against the towering firs and pine of the Forest.

'Well,' he called over the steady hammering of rain through the trees. 'We'd best get a move on.'

Cassandra blinked rather dumbly back at him. Move? She gazed at the others who remained seated, unmoved. The similarities in their body language were apparent. They were defeated, waiting for the end. Be that what it may.

'I can't even…' Cassandra trailed off, gesturing meekly at her damaged leg. The pain from which sent lances of agony up her entire left side should she even consider applying weight.

'That's easy,' Clip countered. He turned and strode to Kattala, weaving slightly over the slippery, uncertain footing of the mud-soaked clearing floor. 'Cat, do you remember that Prehniian Pressure Sling you showed me for bandaging Bowtruckle injuries? I need you to do one of them on Cassie's leg, if you could.'

Cassandra looked at Clip as if he had gone mad. 'A _Bowtruckle_ bandage? Clip, this is a little more complex than a broken twig. I-'

'It's the knee that hurts, isn't it? I've seen the way you walk on it. As it happens, on a larger scale this particular method of bandaging is unparalleled in redistribution of weight, and removing strain on load-bearing joints. I've been looking into a way to Charm it to allow the leg to better absorb shock but, well… I'm not that good with the magic.'

Clip, whose hand had not left Kattala's shoulder, suddenly looked a little sheepish. Cassandra stared openly, her misery momentarily forgotten.

'So can you do it for us Cat? Please?'

Cassandra didn't know she had been holding her breath until she let out a single, relieved sigh as the curtain of Kattala's hair nodded once to the affirmative. She watched Clip help her to her feet, and Cassandra could do little more than squeak a frail little 'thank you!' as Kattala bent down and tore a strip from her own robe to begin the work.

Clip had now turned to Tristan, and was trying in vain to coax him to his feet.

'We've got to get going, mate. Look out there, the water's rising, I don't want to be anywhere near here when _that_ comes for us.'

Cassandra followed Clips gesture, to see a flickering melange of vivid pastel colours interspersed with darker, midnight streaks warring beneath the surface of the lake. The lightning above was ferocious. Her gaze was drawn almost magnetically to the spot where Renshaw had stood. All that remained was a crater, even now beginning to fill beneath the rising waters and tempestuous rain. Frost rimed the margins, and was beginning a slow, indomitable march across the nearby stones and sand out to the surface of the Lake proper.

A shiver wracked Cassandra that had nothing to do with the chill in the air.

'What does it matter?' Tristan mumbled listlessly. 'We've no wands. We crossed a low point between the castle and here that's probably already flooded. We're cut off in here, stranded.'

'We're not going back that way,' Clip stated matter-of-factly. 'We're going forward, to find James. He still needs our help.'

'A fool's errand; none of us know our way around here, and besides, we haven't any wands.'

'Well,' Clip announced, raising his voice as if to address the clearing at large. 'I should hope that someone with a heritage so steeped in acquiring items they ought not be able to acquire would at least be able to put that talent to use in such a time of need as this.'

Cassandra frowned, unsure what on earth Clip was talking about, and briefly wondering if, in fact, he had lost the plot, when the bushes to her left rustled and she let out a yelp of fright.

'Aw man, you ruined my grand entrance,' Fred grumbled. Everyone in the clearing gaped as, sitting in a relaxed grip in his left hand, was a collection of very familiar wands and _the Atlantean Spear_. 'Shoulda seen the looks on those prefects' faces.'

Fred strode into the clearing as if they were gathered for little more than a Sunday afternoon picnic. He rested a hand on Clip's shoulder, looking down at Tristan.

'C'mon mate, we best get a wriggle on. I'm not letting James have all the fun for a second year running.'

'How do we have any hope of finding him in _this?'_

'I happen to know you're a decent hand at bushcraft,' Clip grinned smugly.'

'It helps us out on the farm. Why?'

'I saw James get washed over in that direction, into that bush with the scraggly grey flowers. A full Galleon says you can find a trail leading out from there. Even in this.' He held out a hand to collect a palmful of the rain.

Tristan hesitated for a long, drawn-out second before taking Fred's outstretched arm.

'Careful now,' he said with the shadow of a grin. 'You start talking about bets and you'll bring the Lenders down on us. That'd be the last thing we need.'

Cassandra watched on in shock as Tristan shuffled off in the direction indicated and began scratching around near the base of the shrub. Clip stood in the centre of the clearing, his wand in hand, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

How effortlessly he had played to each of their strengths, asking for so little from each of them. In reality it was nothing more than a set of menial tasks, alone mattering little in the face of such adversity, but together… and here, Kattala flashed Cassandra an unexpected smile which made her heart blossom with something that felt dangerously like _hope._ Together, they could do anything.

* * *

Sweet Merlin, but she loved the feeling of being _alive._

As a jet of light tugged at Holly Brooks' raven hair and left a bloody kiss upon her cheek, she let out a shrill laugh up into the night.

The rain answered in the only way it knew.

The thickly-forested stretch of lakeshore upon which they were huddled was awash with rivulets of run-off, all cascading down towards the hungry lakeshore. The air was thick with a rich, earthy smell, and so cold as to sting her nostrils each time she inhaled; a sensation that was beginning to make her feel a little queasy. She swept a palm across the wound and cupped her nose, drawing in the hot, steely scent of her own blood. She smiled out toward the source of the spell.

A once-dusty ephemeral stream stood defiantly before her, roaring with newfound life. Silt-laden water bit and cut at poorly consolidated banks. With every minute that passed clumps of dirt crashed down to join the turbulent swell, dragged under immediately and dissipated among the muddy wash discharging out into the Lake nearby. Soon, it would become impassable. Soon, they would have a problem.

The caster of the spell leaned out from the tree behind which he was huddled, firing off a wild barrage of spells. The last of the prefects, in a vain attempt at making himself useful, had Stunned Rain in the chaos and fled. Now he stubbornly refused to back down. Every few seconds he would call out for the Headmistress. As his cries continued to go unanswered, a satisfying undertone of desperation began to seep through; music to Holly's ears.

'She's not going to co- _ome,'_ Holly sing-songed out over the creek. The high-pitched falsetto ran eerily through the trees alongside the thunderous crash of rain and wave around them.

'I'll have you expelled, Brooks! And you Potter. Attacking a prefect! You won't have any house points left when I'm through with you!'

The blood from Holly's cheek was seeping down to the corner of her mouth. She sucked it in sharply, revelling in the taste. She flashed a blood-streaked smile at the cornered prefect.

'Come on out Rawlins, what's the matter? I only bite a little.'

From behind the next tree over, James let out a grunt. He was looking impatient; always business, he never liked to play with his food. She'd see to that, eventually.

Rawlins fired another spell that went well wide. Holly knew him from her first year. He had been one of the first to turn a blind eye when Greengrass and Braithwaite's bullying had been at its worst; always the last to step in and break things up, as long as it was Holly on the receiving end.

A well-aimed cutting hex from Holly was rewarded with a satisfying high-pitched scream, and she had to suppress the urge to let forth a gleeful titter _._ This was entirely too much fun.

She and James both started as, nearby, a sapling tumbled and was claimed by the greedy, all-consuming current. To cross the creek was already an uncertain leap at best. Any longer and Rawlins – and by extension an unconscious Rain – would be stranded on an ever-shrinking island within the Lake. And no matter how fun this entire evening had been so far, she was _not_ going to dip so much as a pinky toe in that water tonight. She had a fair idea of how _that_ would end.

They had to move.

An icy wind gusted in from across the Lake like Death's own kiss. With it, came a thin, marching band of ice, forming along the margins of the creek between them. The ice shone as if under non-existent moonlight, and every time the fat, driving raindrops hit it they fizzed as if falling on a grill.

From his cornered snarl, even Rawlins knew that he had nowhere left to run. The stream was far too wide to leap while carrying an unconscious body. He'd refused every offer of surrender thus far, which was a shame. Holly would have let him go… at least until his back was turned.

A little bubble of laughter rose to the surface, and she tossed her head gleefully.

' _Reducto!'_ she roared without warning, aiming at the centre of a puddle at Rawlins' feet.

The water exploded in a violent cascade, sending a terrified Rawlins tumbling as he tripped over a concealed root.

Holly had been buffing her nails arrogantly on the breast of her robe, when she was yanked unceremoniously forwards towards the water. Sensing their chance, James was making a break for it.

No time at all for _fun._

All of a sudden, the pair stopped as abruptly as they started, Holly colliding into James' back with an indignant _'Oof!'_

James had frozen in place, as what little was left of the bank beneath Rawlins had tumbled away under Holly's aggressive spell, sending him down a short fall, directly into the clutches of the waves below.

The ice that had been gathering in glassy sheets in the shallows spilt beneath Rawlins' weight with a thunderous crash, cutting through the night like a whip. Holly clapped hands to her ears – managing to poke herself in the eye with her own wand in the process.

The pair stood dead still for a moment, as even the rain and the rushing water seemed to hold their breath.

A momentary glance down confirmed her fears, as the once-raging water was rapidly growing a thick sheet of frost all across its surface. James – bless his soul – stepped up as if to protect her from it. Floundering out in the muddy shallows of the Lake, Rawlins was likely wetting himself. Holly knew _she_ would be in his situation.

A final, resounding crack sounded, as the ice met in the centre of the creek, and Rawlins jumped to life as if electrocuted. He scrabbled desperately up the bank, tripping and sliding on hidden icy stones. A small swell in the lake began to build behind him, unseen. Within it, like a beating heart, pulsed a single shimmering streamer of pale pink.

The swell grew to a wave easily as high as Holly was tall, gathering speed as if it were rushing downhill towards them. Rawlins let out a cry as he finally looked back. Roots and clods of dirt gave way traitorously beneath his frantic clutches, struggling to make it up the mud-soaked slope and free himself of the gathering wall of water that was bearing down upon them. As the pair took a tentative step forwards, Holly saw a fan of mud-streaked, red-gold hair splayed out behind a tree: Rain.

That sight gave the pair the jolt they needed to snap free of their reverie and lunge forward over the creek, towards their stricken friend. Before them, Holly saw Rawlins finally scramble free of the waterline. Immediately, the gigantic wave began to recede, losing its momentum until it was little more than a bulge in the surface once more, little more than the height of a tall man.

Holly made the leap over the creek, and instantly felt the ground give way beneath her on the far bank. She flung out a hand desperately, but grabbed hold of little more than leaves, sending her careening down the short drop. Her foot momentarily collided with something solid, before punching through into the freezing depths below. The sheer cold of the water knocked the breath clean from her lungs, as her leg was submerged up to the thigh. She gasped frantically as James' face appeared at the bank, lifting her to safety. Out over the lake, the shimmering form within the wave coalesced into the figure of a human, impossibly tall, crowned by seething foam, clad head to toe as if in startling pearlescent armour. The figure stood within the wave, and she saw it turn to face her. It raised a single arm, and beckoned.

Holly was glad that she would be able to pass off what happened next as excess water from her dip in the creek.

Rain was shivering uncontrollably and disoriented, but otherwise fine. The small group found a slight rise in the topography suitably away from the lakeshore. Rain leant heavily on the nearest tree trunk for support. James fussed over her endlessly. Holly strode off rather forcefully to scout their position. She told her self that it was certainly _not_ because she couldn't bear to watch the display.

When she returned, Rain proffered her hand. Confused, Holly slowly took it. It was icy cold; the fingers clenched shut around something in the palm. Gently, she prised them free one by one. They felt so brittle that they might shatter like ice. Holly thought to jam the hand up her shirt to share some body warmth; but the constant chattering of her own teeth and frigid temperature of her skin suggested that she was little better off herself.

Holly knew what she was seeing long before she pried the final finger free; the fat, blue gemstone sat heavy in Rain's pale palm. It seemed to reflect a starry night sky that didn't exist, tiny pinpricks of light glowing as if from within. At Rain's gesture, Holly leaned in to take it, gasping in shock at the soul-rending cold of the stone to the touch. She stared reverently from the stone to Rain, and then to James, who wore a cautiously optimistic grin for the first time that night. He was holding up two fingers; the message was clear. They had the Stone and Rain; two down, one to go.

* * *

Any real hope of tracking James had died almost as soon as it had started. The driving rain and constant torrents of water running about their feet rendered the forest floor useless for reading signs of passing. Tristan had been reduced to following the natural lie of the land, in the hope that it would lead him on the path most likely taken by James. The occasional unnatural crater or shattered bough spoke ominously of heavy spellfire, and stood to assure them that they were likely headed in the right direction.

It reminded Tristan eerily of a time his father had asked him to located a wounded Demiguise high up in the steepest ranges of their farm. The creature had been beset by something, and was wandering, lost and disoriented. Tristan had headed to the highlands with little more than a thick coat and a stick for walking, expecting the job to last less than a day.

But signs of passage in that rocky, bare country had been next to nothing, and coupled with the fact that the creature would only become visible once every few hours to recover its strength, had meant that it had been three days until Tristan had found it, curled up beneath a rocky overhang. It could have been asleep but for the way those sightless eyes seemed to follow Tristan no matter how he had tried to escape them.

Those eyes were haunting him once more, as he momentarily paused next to a swollen, tumultuous creek that now surrounded a tiny island out within the lake. Signs of fighting were thick on the ground here; scattered branches lay all about, and green needles flowed freely on the myriad currents underfoot. A slash of red on a nearby tree could have been blood, but it was gone before Tristan could investigate. The eyes of the Demiguise had been a pale brown in death; almost identical to James'.

He held up a hand to halt their progress as a new sound began to emerge; something crashing through the undergrowth, headed towards them. The group fanned out, facing the sound. Fred lowered both his wand and the Spear. Thoughts of wild tales of what lived in the forest flashed through Tristan's mind: Thestrals and Werewolves and worse. But the shape resolved into human form; one of the prefects – a Slytherin. Rollins, or something, was his name. He pulled up short when he saw five wands lowered at his chest, and favoured the group with a derisive sneer.

'You freaks are gonna get yourselves killed out here,' he snarled. The look in his eye was wild, almost feral. He gnashed his teeth at the line of wands before him.

'Where're our friends?' Tristan yelled through gritted teeth. If this prefect had done anything to James…

'Dead, probably. Hopefully. You're all insane. If whatever's out there doesn't kill you, Renshaw will.'

'Renshaw is gone.' Tristan's voice was flat.

'Then we're all dead!' he snarled, lunging at Tristan.

But Fred was too quick, and bound the prefect in a quick Leg-Locker, causing him to fall flat on his face in the mud. He looked up at them, almost a pitiful sight, covered in mud and dirt and smelling vaguely of piss.

'Where are our friends?' Tristan asked again, making sure to point his wand square between Rollins' eyes.

A shift came over his expression then, from mad to calculating in the space between heartbeats. All too soon it was gone, and the feral smile returned.

'Gone,' he giggled madly. 'At least the red-head one is. I stunned her. Bound her up good. Had her on yon island over there, waiting for Renshaw. When the creek flooded I cut and run.'

Tristan's chest went cold as he surveyed what was left of the island indicated; little more than the raised roots of a giant fir. There was certainly no body in sight

'And the girl?' Though he was almost too afraid to ask.

'Ditched her, didn't I? She's the one that caused all this, only seemed right. No one will miss that freak. You ask me, she's better off dead!'

Fred's spell broke under the shock of that revelation, and Rollins pushed himself up to his feet. He took a moment to spit vehemently at Tristan before turning tail and fleeing back the way they had come, continuing his senseless flight through the Forest.

'Could she really be…'Clip started a sentence that he clearly wasn't able to complete.

'We need a light,' Tristan murmured.

'There's nothing there mate,' Fred replied. The island's gone, now. Water's up the trunk of the tree.'

'I said, give me a light!' Tristan yelled. His breath was coming in short sharp bursts. His hands shook too violently to trust himself casting the spell.

Cassie sent an orb hovering out over the water. It illuminated the bole of the tree in a ghostly silver light, clashing with the ethereal pale colours that were spilled across the starless sky.

A huge sheet of green lightning illuminated the once-island clearly, and Fred gasped, gesturing with the spear.

'What was that?' He yelled. 'I saw something floating on the water, a body, I'm sure of it!'

Before anyone could respond, he had dashed to the very edge of the rising water and was tearing off his shoes and robe.

'Don't be ridiculous, Fred,' Tristan warned. 'Even if it is Rain… You've seen what the water can do, there's no way you can go in there.'

'And there's no way we can go on without Rain. We need her to do whatever it is we're going to do. It was _her_ plan. Without her _and_ Renshaw, we're doomed.'

'Well let me go,' Tristan offered, taking a step towards the water.

'Don't be ridiculous. You're the only reason we haven't been eaten by a bloody Werewolf or ended up in Dorset. You need to keep going and find James, all of you. It can't be more than fifty yards out there; I'll catch you up in no time.'

The pair shared a long look. Fred's gaze was bordering on pleading.

'Fine,' Tristan finally grunted.

'Besides, I've got a secret weapon, I'll be fine.' Fred hefted the Spear confidently as he strode out into the surf.

Before the group could waste any time on farewells, he lunged forward and dived beneath the water, disappearing almost instantly beneath the murky depths.

As even the glow of the spear was eventually swallowed up by the rain and the distance, Tristan couldn't help but remember their Headmistress standing confidently, spear in hand, not too long ago.

Some good it had done her.

* * *

'And that's why we need to have the Spear,' Rain finished. As soon as she stopped talking her teeth went back to chattering uncontrollably, and she hugged herself beneath hers and James' robes.

They were huddled together at the edge of a small promontory overlooking the Lake. Waves bit and crashed at the rocky base, but their position some metres above the surface of the water was likely to remain safe. Their view ran unimpeded out across the water as far as the incessant rain would allow them to see. Tattered streamers of pastel pinks and blues hung both above and below the surface alike. Every so often a great flare of light would illuminate the scene fully, and a sickening flotsam of dead Merfolk bodies bobbing on the surface of the water would be revealed. It was clear that they were losing. Their time was running out.

Rain had chosen this ledge as their spot from which to make the stand against the Atlanteans. The Stone lay in a small depression between them, and they were huddled around it like a campfire, but the lazy streamers of smoke that trailed upwards from its surface gave off a numbing cold rather than any form of heat. Holly had gone to scout the area, and look for any sign of the others, in the hopes that they had obtained the Spear, the final piece of the puzzle.

'So let me get this straight,' James said, rubbing his hands together in the vain hope of creating some warmth. 'The Spear isn't actually a spear, it's a tiny Atlantean?'

'It's not _an_ Atlantean, _all_ of the Atlanteans. It's a piece of them, of each of them, that anchors them in this world. The decay of their prison was only the start. No matter how much the Stone becomes damaged, they won't be able to manifest in this world for more than a short time, a few hours at most. Hence the random violent storms throughout the year; but once they gathered enough of their strength, they were able to bridge the gap between their Prison and our world by tying themselves here with this. It's almost like a physical rope; no matter how much we banish them, as long as the Spear still exists, they will always be able to claw back up the rope and make their way into our world. It might take months, years even, but it will always happen.'

'And to destroy the spear, I would have to Enchant it – Bind it to the Stone permanently?'

'Exactly. That will destroy the spear, allowing it to be consumed by the Prison once more. And again, like a physical rope, it will drag all of the Atlanteans back into the Prison, anchoring them there, where they should be. Forever.'

James ran a hand through the hair plastered to his head by the rain. All he needed to do was Enchant the most powerful magical object he'd ever encountered before the Demons it belonged to broke free and destroyed the now-leaderless school. He wondered if his father had ever felt this terribly, horribly out of his depth.

'But the last we saw of the Spear was in Renshaw's hand, ready to give back to the Atlanteans.'

'It wasn't the Atlanteans who attacked her, it was the Merfolk. She had manipulated them into defending the school with their lives, and they wanted revenge.'

'So the Merfolk have it?'

'No, I can feel it. The Stone can feel it approaching. It is getting apprehensive.'

James turned his gaze upon the blue Sapphire, now vibrating slightly in the depression in which it lay.

Suddenly, a brilliant green flash lit the sky from horizon to horizon. It displayed the grizzly scene below, countless bodies floating on the surface of the Lake. No wonder the Merfolk had wanted revenge.

'No!'

Rain's cry cut through James like a knife, he lunged towards her, grabbing her by the shoulders, staring into a gaze malformed by anguish.

'The Spear! They- it's…'

From their vantage point they could see clearly a score or more jagged forks of lightning beneath the surface of the waves all rush to converge on a single point. Where they met a huge fountain of water erupted, high above even their heads.

'…it's gone.'

'What?' James shot his gaze back out towards the lake, but it was now ominously quiet.

'What can we do? We need to get it back!'

'We can't, we won't. Not… not if _they_ have it.'

There was no need to ask who _they_ were.

'There is a way, but- but it's too dangerous. You're not strong enough James, I can't let you.'

James' gaze hardened, to the point where Rain shied away. 'We _need_ to fix this, Rain. Hundreds of lives could be at stake. If the Atlanteans make it to the castle… Tell me what to do, please. I want to protect those people, Rain. Merlin, I want to protect _you.'_

'The only way to do it is to fight them James, to bind _them_ to the Stone; every single Atlantean out there. You must locate them within the Trance, and bind them as you would have the Spear. They are not living things, they are machinations sustained purely by magic, bastardised by being given the memories and emotions of a hundred trapped souls.

'It will be like binding the Spear, but at the same time nothing like it. They will fight back, they are sentient, they will resist you, and they will _not_ want to be imprisoned. James, I don't think you are strong enough for this, please.'

'I can do it Rain, I _will_ do it. Tell me how.'

James reached out and took her hand in his own as she began to explain.

Meanwhile, in the waters below, deep beneath the waves, all of those tattered shreds of pale light now began to _flow._ They were moving with purpose, as were the ones that hung low above the waters' surface. They flowed like veins carrying lifeblood, all to a handful of locations which began to burgeon down by the shore. As James and Rain remained locked in tense conversation those points of light became so bright they illuminated the swamped trees. Raindrops glinted and winked momentarily as they flashed through the light.

All around those points of light the Lake began to freeze solid. The Atlanteans had arrived.

* * *

Tristan led the sombre group onwards in silence. The absence of any hint of quip or joke from Fred was glaringly loud, even with the rain making speaking difficult. He plodded along at the head of their pitiable column, splashing one muddy boot in front of the other, looking up only occasionally to ensure they were still headed towards the dim light they had seen atop a small shelf jutting out over the Lake.

Behind them, a growing light was beginning to flicker through the trees, illuminating the undergrowth in a ghostly monochrome. Tristan tried hard not to think about how those lights seemed to be coming from the exact point where Fred had left them.

He was sure that their listless pace would have long ground to a halt, but for the ever-advancing sheen of frost that was freezing the flowing water solid behind them. What had once been hundreds of rivulets and runnels was now an otherworldy surface of ropy, glass-like ice, steaming gently, and sparkling beneath the alien lights. The advance was moving at a fast walk, forcing them to do so as well. No one wanted to touch the ice. They were cut off from Fred entirely.

As he stepped carefully around a sodden patch of Stranglegrass, Tristan sensed a blur of movement to his left. Too late, as a pair of arms snaked their way around his waist, gripping his wrist fast, immobilising his wand-hand. A voice sounded so close to his ear as to send a wave of shivers down an entire side of his body.

'You've got to be careful crashing about out here. There are scarier things than me lurking.'

Initial shock over, Tristan turned to face the voice, his lips mere centimetres from the source. They drew upwards in what felt like the first smile all night.

'Ordinarily, I'd be only too happy to find myself in such a compromising position and at your mercy Miss Brooks, but I do think you just made my heart stop just a little.'

'Wait till you see what I can do when I'm actually trying.'

'How about you swing by when this is all over and you can show me.'

Tristan didn't miss the fleeting gaze she sent up towards the promontory where James must have been. That boy was clueless.

Holly disentangled herself abruptly as the others arrived, dishing out a round of greeting. She looked well and truly worse for wear; her long, dark hair was matted thick with mud and blood, adorned with twigs and leaves from the forest around them. A nasty gash high on her cheek wept a steady stream of blood down her grime-streaked features. Her robes looked to be more hole than actual robe, and she was missing a shoe. A sock that was once bright pink squirmed wetly in the thick mud underfoot.

'Where's Fred?' she asked pointedly.

'He went to get Rain,' Tristan replied, suddenly sheepish. 'We saw her floating out on the water. He went to save her, and took the spear with him. But we- we haven't seen him since.'

Holly's face instantly fell.

'Oh. Oh no, that's not good. That's _really_ not good.' The scraggly strand of hair she had been sucking on was ground mercilessly between her teeth.

'But we need Rain to finish this; it was her plan to begin with. Without her, we're groping around in the dark.' There was a little more bite than need be in his retort, but Tristan suddenly felt a need to defend his decision, a need for someone to tell him that it had been the right one.

'We do,' Holly agreed, placing a hand on his shoulder consolingly. 'And we have her. She's right up there on that clifftop with James.'

Tristan heard Cassie give a choked sob behind him, he heard Cat's gasp of shock, but they felt a million miles away. He felt as if he were looking at the cliff from the castle, through a great tunnel. Holly was speaking to him, but the words were echoing through the tunnel, bouncing around in his head until he couldn't make sense of them in the slightest. He'd killed Fred, more than likely. He'd killed Fred, and he'd given the Atlanteans that Spear which had been so precious to them. He knew now that it was no coincidence that as soon as Fred – and the Spear – had entered the water, they had been able to leave it. They had taken the Spear, the Spear that James needed to stop their advance.

Renshaw was gone, her fate unknown but certainly gone the same way as Fred's.

There was nothing left to stand between the Atlanteans and Hogwarts, and it had been all his fault.

Holly was shaking him now, jarring his neck, though not even the discomfort could break through his fugue. Clip was talking – most likely saying something reasonable, as was his wont. He should have left him by the lakeshore, staring, dazed at the base of the tree. If Clip had just carried on without them, they'd be fine, They'd have the Spear, and probably have defeated the Atlanteans by now.

He wanted to punch something, some _one._ He wanted to take the first Atlantean that came through those trees and set it on fire to burn for a thousand years. He'd take them all, one after the other, until they were all gone, or he was. It was the only way he would be able to live with himself. It was all that was left for him to do.

'…that's better Tristan, that's the fight we want to see in those eyes,' Holly was saying. 'You're going to need it. We've got a half dozen Atlanteans with a severe case of claustrophobia coming our way, and they _really_ don't want to be stuffed back inside that tiny Stone. I need to go and tell James about the Spear, if they don't already know. They'll need to change their plan. He'll be glad to know you're safe.'

She added the last sentence as an afterthought, a weak attempt to console him, but he was beyond that now. He knew what he had to do. A tongue of flame leapt to life from the tip of his wand, snaking its way around his body hungrily, like a snake coiled to strike. The friends, less Holly, arrayed themselves at the foot of the path up the cliff, wands faced outward.

The ice advanced ahead of the approaching misty light. It grew thick upon the ground, coating everything and then coating itself once more, until the forest floor before them became a crumpled, chaotic melange of broken shards and frozen mud. The deep, penetrating sound of ice cracking echoed through the trees, shattering crystallised pine needles and reverberating through Tristan deep into his chest.

Their breath misted in the air, hanging in thick, lazy streamers and clouds that refused to dissipate beneath the rain. One look down the line either side of him showed the black-and-white illuminated faces of his friends, ready. No words were shared between them, for there was nothing left to say, all that was left was to _do._

Tristan could make out footsteps now, nearing, unhurried, relentless and indomitable. The ice approached their feet, and Tristan let the fire that cloaked him flare as bright as he dared. He set it free to leap defiantly over the soaked ground. It burned fiercely at their feet, a burnished, golden hue that gave colour to their features and warmth to their limbs. The ice advanced no further.

Four figures stood, lit now by a warm, golden light. It was only their shadows that moved. Their arms, wands raised, did not waver. Their gazes did not leave the point among the trees from which a figure was beginning to take shape. They were ready.

The thing that finally took shape through the trees appeared alarmingly close to human. It was almost three times Tristan's own height, and clad head-to-toe in some kind of armour that glistened with the pale pastel colours that he had seen within the lake. In the eerie white light that emanated from behind it, the armour glowed, pearlescent. Tristan cracked a frown, as he noticed that he could see _through_ what he had originally thought to be armour – through the entire creature itself. When the light fell just right, he could see a warped, distorted version of the forest beyond through the things chest. It looked as if the entire creature was made of ice.

Its face turned toward them, perpetually contorted into a vicious snarl by the hatred of an entire people that it harboured within what could only laughably be called its soul. It had no words to speak, but merely raised a taloned hand in the direction of James and Rain.

'No,' Tristan growled. The fire at his feet flared defiantly.

The thing – the Atlantean – took a step forward, sending a radial array of ice blossoming from its footfall, adding another layer to the gnarled and churned forest floor. It began to advance. Its gait seemed uncertain, as if it were unused to walking altogether. For a moment, Tristan had hope. They might have an advantage after all.

Mesmerising ribbons of colour swirled within the Atlanteans chest in place of flesh and bone, as if those streamers of colour were its very lifeblood, as if they _were_ the entire entity of these creatures, housed in what was merely a glass shell. Clearly thinking along the same track, Clip fired off a Blasting Hex. The creature didn't so much as flinch as the spell fizzled uselessly against its shoulder. Not so much as a smudge was left as evidence.

Tristan's brief flowering of hope suddenly faltered.

At ten paces away, Cat and Cassie together yelled _'Incendio Maxima!'_ Blue and yellow ribbons of flame assailed the creature, causing it to halt momentarily. But little more than an arm movement was all that it needed to brush the flames aside, and again it began to advance. Each footfall seemed to radiate the very essence of cold out through the ground and up through Tristan's own boots. His wall of fire shrank back as if scared, and no matter how much effort he put into sustaining it, it continued to bow before the attacker.

Tristan chose his moment, when he could sustain the blaze no longer. The Atlantean seemed to stumble momentarily on the uneven surface, nearly falling to one knee on its ungainly feet. Tristan locked on to where its eyes would have been and charged, yelling a wordless snarl and gathering his trail of fire about him, drawing it to an inferno, lunging at the creature's face, hands out as if to tear the head from its body.

He felt as if he collided with a granite pillar. The Atlantean didn't so much as flinch beneath his onslaught. Tristan dashed his fists against its body, trying to climb it and find eyes, face, any sort of weakness. Beneath his palms what had looked like glass felt like solid rock, and flash-froze his skin to the surface. He tore his hands free again and again, leaving bloody prints up its body with each desperate lunge. The air around the creature scalded his throat and nose, so cold was it to breathe. The fire around him flickered, its heat but a distant memory. Beneath him, the Atlantean rose to its feet finally. Tristan tore his palms free with a last, painful rip of flesh and fell from the body of the creature as it lunged to grab him, no more than a minor annoyance.

He hit the frozen ground hard, cracking his head on a sharp splinter of ice. He lay for a second, stunned, wondering at the curious fan of red that seemed to be blossoming from the corners of his vision. Above him, the creature of swirling light raised a heavy foot. It came down centimetres from where Tristan had been laying. He pushed himself up onto unsteady feet, facing the beast once more. He was faster than it. Perhaps he could outrun in, wear it down.

As another Blaster from Clip failed uselessly against its arm, Tristan wondered whether it might be easier to wear down the granite the thing seemed to be made of.

Cassie conjured an array of ropes and chains in a clever attempt to snarl its uncertain footing, but it waded through them as if they were little more than shallow water. Tristan tried and failed to resurrect his cloak of fire, but his thoughts were scattered, and he could barely grip his wand, his palms a bloody torn mess of blood and raw exposed flesh.

It clearly had registered Tristan as useless, and turned its attention to the greater annoyances. Clip brought down a branch onto its head, which Cat set ablaze. For a moment Tristan thought they had it beat, until it grabbed the branch – fire and all – and whipped it back around, collecting Clip in the midriff and sending him flying several metres through the air. He crashed to the frozen ground hard, slumped against the bole of a tree and did not get up.

Fighting the burning desire to run to his friend, Tristan rejoined the line in Clip's place. His wand was a blood-soaked mess, and he could feel blood flowing freely down the collar of his shirt. His vision was beginning to tunnel. Cat and Cassie huddled close to him on either side. Their wands shook as they levelled them.

' _Defodio!'_ Cassie yelled, gouging out a section of the dirt just as the Atlantean was set to make another Cyclopean footfall. It stumbled once again, and Tristan sent out a whip-like tongue of flame to encircle its neck in an attempt to throttle it, if it could even be throttled.

On his other side Cat conjured as many ropes as she could manage, anything to foul the beasts footing. Cassie worked on its hands, preventing it from knocking the fire aside as Tristan put all of his might into shrinking the rope of flame around it's neck. If he couldn't choke it then he'd damn well pop its head right off.

But once again their efforts were not enough. First the creature turned to Cassie, gripping one of the ropes as it was unfurling from her wand. A high-pitched rushing washed over them, and a column of ice leapt up along the rope so quickly that before she could do anything about it, it had entombed her entirely. She stood, frozen in her terror, and the beast was free. It made short work of Tristan's noose, snapping the flame and collecting him with a kick to the chest that sent him skidding along the frozen ground, curled around his damaged body protectively. He tried and failed to stand, managing only to cough up an explosion of blood.

 _Finally, it's over._ He thought, as he watched the creature pick Cat up off the ground in one hand. _Such a shame._ As the creature drew her overhead, making to strike down onto the frozen form of Cassie. Cat's screamed would have curdled Tristan's blood had he any left at his disposal.

He had to blink, then. He thought it might have been his failing vision, but something had seemed to make the creature flinch. And again, it staggered half a step, an argent flash of light spoke of a chip of that stone-like glass flying free from its shoulder. It dropped Cat bodily to the ground and turned to face the new attacker.

Tristan managed to push himself up to a sitting position using the tree at his back. Foamy blood frothed at the corner of his mouth, and wild thoughts ran through his mind of Harry Potter, or Dumbledore, or even Renshaw coming free from the deep to save the day. It burned his entire left side to turn his neck, but he managed it to see their saviour.

It was Holly.

She stood at the foot of the path, facing down the beast with an unflinching gaze. And how wrong Tristan had been earlier to think her looking haggard, for now she was a picture of fiery vengeance. The tattered robe was gone, instead she wore loose black silks, not unlike those Renshaw often favoured. Her ivory skin glowed in the faux-moonlight brighter even that the body of the Atlantean. The mud and blood on her face was no detriment to her appearance, it was instead a warpaint, and as she lowered her wand and fired off another spell, she rushed down to fight.

Tristan wanted to yell a warning, to tell her not to run, to save herself, to gather James and flee. There was no way they could beat this _thing_. But those reservations died on his tongue the moment she stepped up to the creature.

It made a slow, cumbersome lunge at her, an overhead, two-fisted smash. Holly flitted to the side casually and a great crater was left in the soft mud where the Atlantean struck. Before it could raise its hands, hundreds of roots snaked up from the earth, ensnaring its hands, sticking them fast. Holly let out a sound that might have been a giggle, before a jet of carmine light collided with the creature's midriff, rocking it bodily and sending another splinter of ice to the ground.

The moment the ice came free of the creature, it became blackened and dead, where it hit the ground it shattered so violently that Tristan couldn't make out a single shard of it remaining. With something resembling a roar, the creature tore free, whipping a viciously-clawed arm at Holly with speed Tristan hadn't known it possessed. Before he could yell a warning, Holly had twirled _just_ out of its reach, her silks billowing around her for a moment like a ball gown woven from midnight itself.

The Atlantean summoned a shard of ice up from the very earth, one that would have skewered Holly had she not pirouetted free at the last moment. Tristan heard fully-fledged laughter now, as the Atlantean made lunge after lunge that Holly nimbly evaded. Their charade was broken momentarily by a thunderous crash from deep within the lake, whereupon the Atlantean turned back to face her with renewed vigour.

Whatever had happened had been a signal of some kind, and the thing had clearly lost its patience. Tristan gasped, as a wicked curved blade of the same material as the spear appeared in its hand, or rather, grown _from_ its hand. Holly's smile faltered for only a second.

'I'm flattered. Of course I'll have this _dance.'_

On that last word the creature struck, and Holly spun away yet again. They were back at it.

But this time, there was something different. No, Tristan corrected himself, this time _everything_ was different. The creature was moving with speed and precision, unlike anything they had seen before. It cut and slashed and whirled in a display of appalling speed and power. Small sticks and clumps of ice flicked up from its feet, catching in the light and winking. Against the washed out light of the Atlanteans, Holly was a streak of midnight, a blur of darkness standing against the onslaught. Each time the creature thrust, she spun, throwing her arms wide and sending her silks billowing. Her hair fanned behind her, sending a curtain of droplets that sparkled like a handful of tossed stars.

Any thoughts Tristan had possessed of rejoining the fight were well and truly abandoned. This was occurring on a level far above anything he could dream of. Holly would never stop moving, spinning and dipping and curving her body around the attacks of the Atlantean that was so mesmerising as to possess an almost sensual undertone. Tristan knew he couldn't tear his eyes from the gracile curve of her neck as she arched backwards beneath a crosshanded chop, or the way her hips swayed as she pirouetted away from another pillar of ice.

He counted his breaths to the flashes of pale skin that were offered, the way her hands worked her wand back and forth, never ceasing in casting spells, constantly chipping away, wearing the Atlantean down in a way Tristan had believed impossible. For a second, she was on all fours, nearly flat against the ground in a position Tristan hadn't believed humanly possible, and before the next heartbeat she was leaping high over another attack, her arms gracefully flung wide, already preparing to balance for the next move. Even when the creature did land an attack, she made it beautiful, with ribbons of red now trailing in the air behind her in sweeping, graceful arcs alongside the streamers of black and ivory.

And those were the colours in which she painted her defiance. And against all that he thought possible, Tristan watched her beginning to succeed. He noticed that the creature now only used one arm; that it could only pivot on a single leg. More and more of the ice fell away to shatter into nothingness, and still Holly continued to dance. The ground around them was churned and shattered, uneven for even the most sure-footed-, but Holly continued to dance across it as if it were a ballroom floor, and she the main attraction.

It was on a clumsy, single-handed lunge forward, where the Atlantean had thought to pin Holly to the ground with its giant blade, that she struck. The sword dug deep into the ground, and once again the roots and vines rose to ensnare it. Holly leapt nimbly up the arm holding the sword, springing onto the Atlanteans shoulders like a river of pitch. Once there, she aimed her wand clearly at its head and said so even Tristan could hear.

'Nighty night.'

Whatever spell she used, blasted the head clean off the creature, and sent her flying a ways in Tristan's direction. Alarmed, he pushed himself up weakly against the tree and staggered a step towards her. He barked a single cough of a laugh as she wobbled to her feet and made her way to him.

 _Now_ she was looking haggard. Her face was ashen, drained of all colour, her lips a faded, dead purple. The whites of her eyes were stained red, and blood flowed freely from her nose. Out where she had fought, Tristan noted with shock just how much red was sprayed amongst the dirty white ice. A gust of wind stirred the tatters of Holly's silks, and she stumbled, her coordination gone as if that fight had drained it all from her.

'Reckon I got him,' she managed, before spitting a wad of bloody phlegm at her feet.

'Reckon you did.' The pair limped and shuffled their way towards one another, tears streaking both of their faces.

So intent was Tristan's gaze upon Holly that he didn't note the shifting among the ice behind her. He failed entirely to see the now mostly-darkened shape of the battered Atlantean rise from the surface, sword once more in its one good hand. It wasn't until sword and creature alike were raised that he registered something was amiss, and the arm he threw out to Holly – still a dozen yards away – did little more than cause a confused frown to mar her brow as that wicked icy blade rushed to impale her from behind.

* * *

James was floating, floating in a sea of utter nothingness. He was deeper in the Trance than he had ever been before. Everything but the strongest magical signatures had been filtered from his world. There was only himself and the Atlanteans. Rain had insisted it was necessary if he were to have any chance of overcoming the Atlanteans. He was so deep, that she was having to sit next to his body, wherever it lay, and constantly whisper to him, to caress him with her magic and her touch to let his body know that it was still, in fact, alive, and not to give up and let his consciousness drift free forever.

It had taken him three painful attempts to get here. Gritty determination was barely able to overcome a debilitating fear of what he faced. Fear less for himself than for the consequence should he fail, of what would happen to his friends and all those he loved.

And so here he floated, with only a single instance of successful Enchanting and a handful of instructions from Rain, he was here to face down an otherworldly threat. If he had possessed a throat in this bodiless state he would have swallowed nervously.

Space meant nothing more to him here than he expected of it, but he allowed himself plenty of time to approach the pulsing, convoluted knot of golden dust before him. He was understandably shy; the first attempt he had made to subdue the magical 'heart' of an Atlantean had nearly tore him free of the Trance altogether. He had felt it onslaught rending his consciousness from his flesh and had fled only just in time, barely able to recall who he was or what his purpose had been. And this was no place to wander lost.

There was something different about this light than the last. It was fitful, flickering, as if on the verge of going out. Perhaps it was weakened, had the Mermaids succeeded in taking one down before they had reached the shore? If so, it was reason to celebrate; one fewer that his friends might have to face.

He approached the entity, questing with his senses, testing and darting away, but no answering snap came. He prodded and teased it, eliciting little more than a bright flicker. Gathering in confidence, he set himself up, preparing for the mental exercised of Binding this bundle of magic to the Stone, its rightful prison.

The Stone he could sense, it was his one anchor to reality, the magical signature which he had impressed upon his consciousness as fervently as he could in the small amount of time given him. It was a familiar voice in a sea of confusion, a heartbeat that hammered in time with his own. The refreshing scent of rich earth and a touch of sea spray. The smell of Rain.

Conversely, the knot of golden dust before him was as unfamiliar and alien as anything he had encountered. Where before he had seen rivers and flows of the stuff, these Atlanteans were wholly self-contained, tightly knotted and twisted into a single tiny package. And should he approach he knew that the innocuous bundle would attempt to sweep him up on a raging torrent of foreign memories and emotions, to assimilate him into an entire generation, an entire people worth of hatred and loathing, to dissipate his own mind until he knew nothing but anger, trapped as just another once-human soul used to fuel the machines of hate that were the Atlanteans.

But this one he could resist. He could resist, and he could begin to tease the strands out from that tightly furled knot. He teased and gently coaxed the strands away from the feebly pulsing core, urging them up to the sweet, welcoming melody of the Stone. It was like teasing a single hair at a time, their number was never ending. Each one he had to handle as if it were spun glass, should he be too rough and get pulled in, it would be the end of them all.

He worked tirelessly. Time did not rule over where he was, but he felt as if hours passed as he deftly unravelled. Mercifully, he needed only to feed the strands to the Stone, and it hungrily sucked them in. As more and more followed, the remaining few became desperate, frantic in their movements. Images flashed through his mind, scenes of hate played out in a world unfamiliar to him. Mother beat child, father beat brother and friend turned against friend time and again. The raw, animal emotion of it grinded on James' consciousness, flensing strips of himself away, threatening to grab at them and draw him, too into the eternal prison.

When the final strand finally disappeared, he allowed himself a brief moment of reprieve to gather his thoughts, before turning his attention to the nearest bundle.

Space meant nothing to him, but out over the Lake, not a hundred metres from where his body lay, a great, thunderous roar shook the Forest to the very roots of the tallest trees.

The first of the Atlanteans was gone.

James flitted around the remaining number, wary to approach. All seemed at full strength; he didn't see how he could face them in such a manner. Suddenly, another flickered. The furthest one from his consciousness. It wavered once, and then returned to shining. A moment later, another stutter. He lingered at the fringes, adding his own harassment, nipping and tugging at strands of its magical being like a terrier at the heels of a Great Dane.

He felt as if he, alone, achieved nothing, but time and again the knot of magical awareness that was animating the Atlantean flickered as if under assault. Slowly, gradually, it appeared to get dimmer, and slowly, James found himself able to tease and yank and the fibrous, golden strands of Dust. First a single one, and then another whipped past him to the Stone, trapped. Whatever this thing was going through on the outside, James was trying desperately to hinder it. Were the Merfolk putting up more of a fight than anticipated? Or… he shuddered, was this one attacking his _friends?_

His efforts redoubled, and he tore at the golden strands desperately, slashing and hacking, letting their own innate hatred fuel his rage and strength, turning it into fuel to destroy itself together with the valiant defender that was fighting on so bravely.

With a start, the light dimmed almost into non-existence. Momentarily disoriented, James allowed himself a moment to celebrate. They'd done it! Whatever it was had been defeated. The colour faded to a dull, murky bronze, the pulsing feeble and fitful, little more than once every handful of seconds. James thought to leave it there, to save his energy on attacking another target, as this one was clearly not going anywhere. If he had this mystery attacker could work together… maybe there _was_ hope, after all.

He turned his attention away to the remaining knots, all approaching his position together. Which looked the weakest? How would he go about tackling so many together, could they band together in some way to defend against him? If so, he was surely doomed. He began to shift himself towards them, just as the being behind him flickered into life once more.

James froze, torn. He shifted between the group and the individual, finally settling on the individual, working rapidly to unravel it. Something primal was giving him a sense of desperate urgency, as if everything hinged on this _one_ being. He frantically tore and pulled at the remaining threads, feeling them flash past on their way to eternal imprisonment with grim satisfaction. The last remaining strands flared golden for a moment like the sun, and then it was done, this one, too, was defeated for good.

He turned back to the group.

Again, did one shine more dimly? He approached cautiously. The others seemed to be undeterred. If they were all moving they appeared to be leaving this straggler. James reached out a tendril of his mind, a single finger to touch the unknown entity-

Which instantly locked him in an iron grip, flaring before him like the sun itself. All around him the others shone erratically, almost excitedly. Through them all a single thought, the mere _feeling_ of the word filtered through to him: _trapped._

* * *

The sword was flying true, right towards the centre of Holly's back. She limped another step, before interpreting his look of horror and beginning to turn, but it was far too late. The blade seemed to whistle gleefully as it parted the air, and Tristan could do no more than cry out.

His scream died in a gurgle of confusion as, just as the blade made to pierce her flesh, the Atlantean burst in a violent show of light, shooting a rush of warm air over Tristan's face. When he regained his sight he rushed the final few steps to where Holly stood, rooted in shock, wrapping her up and bringing them both to the ground in a sobbing, laughing mess.

Their relief was short-lived as behind them, no fewer than four Atlanteans began to appear from between the trees. Tristan swallowed, Holly gulped and took a half-step backward.

'Oh, shit,' she eloquently put it.

Tristan could only agree, as the light from behind them began to grow. They tracked the same path that their predecessor had taken, slow and unrelenting, ignoring unfortunate saplings and boughs in their path.

The light was becoming blinding now as the four halted. No longer the ghostly silver, it was appearing almost tinged with gold. Tristan squinted, a hand shading his eyes. 'What the…' Holly muttered beside him. The light grew and grew, as if it were an incorporeal entity rushing through the Forest towards them. It engulfed anything it its path, and seemed to make even the Atlanteans uncertain. Tristan struck a ready pose, knowing already that it was useless as the wall of light washed over him, and he knew nothing more.

* * *

James would have screamed, had he possessed a throat. He tore and yanked free of the golden strands that began to encircle him. Every way he shifted his consciousness, the golden strands barred him. Just like his own prison, he mused.

He could feel himself slipping away once more, the edges of his mind becoming ragged, providing purchase for the grabbing hands and tendrils of the Atlantean's consciousness. The gold was filling his own vision, becoming brighter, swallowing all that he was and knew. He floundered meekly in defiance, but it did little good.

The gold was so bright that had he eyes, he would have squeezed them shut. It enveloped him and everything he knew, flooding him with a welcoming warmth. _Is this what dissolution feels like?_ He vaguely wondered, as something, some _one_ reached out to him. Not grabbed, but reached, a gesture of friendship, of companionship. His last conscious effort was to reach back, based on primal instinct alone.

The light gave him a familiar warm rush, a presence he knew. He saw in his mind's eye an image of dark lipstick and raven hair, of heeled boots, high collars and haughty demeanour. It was the image of Galatea Renshaw.

The light that was Renshaw forced back the cage around him, engulfing the Atlantean wholly, swallowing it and dissipating it in a heartbeat. James felt her place herself between himself and the remaining bundles of consciousness, now arrayed against him. As the scene faded around him, the last thing he saw was Renshaw's consciousness rushing headlong into the knot of Atlanteans, fearless, to save James.


	26. Chapter 26 - Catharsis

A golden glow lit James' eyelids, bathing him in a warm, comfortable embrace. He could have lay there forever, but sounds around him slowly stirred his sluggish mind into action. _Atlanteans- Rain!_

He snapped open his eyes in shock. He tried to move his arms but found something had bound him tight. Terrified, he let out a yell, struggling against his bonds and surveying the carved stonework that adorned the roof of his prison.

Wait a minute…

That stonework was familiar. This _room_ was familiar. A glance down set his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. Some prison, indeed – Madam Petheridge had tucked him in nice and tight to his bed in the Hospital Wing. Sheepishly, he extricated his arms from the fold, looking around to make sure nobody had seen.

'A little disorientating, I'm sure, Mister Potter,' crooned a husky voice from his left. 'But you are safe now. Everybody is.'

Galatea Renshaw strode around the dividers that shielded James' bed from view, looking as if she had just stepped from a powder room. Black, heeled boots led to an impeccably-pressed midnight robe. A high, stiff collar was bordered with purple scrollwork, matching her deep-purple painted lips. Her hair was piled intricately atop her head, the silver wings at her temples glowing in the sunlight streaming through the window.

She was the perfect picture of imperious control once more. But there was _something_ different.

'The Merfolk attempted to take my sight.' She gestured to the pale pink scar that ran along beneath her left eye, marring the perfection and disappearing up into her hairline. 'It was the least they would accept in payment. They argued that I had blindly led them to this slaughter, and thus that I was not worthy of the gift of sight. Had young Master Weasley not stumbled across the scene, Spear in hand, they likely would have succeeded.'

This raised roughly a _million_ questions in James' mind, each of which were elbowing and jostling the next in order to be the first to spill forth. The end result was a perceptive and intelligent. 'It's _you.'_

A delicate smile curved her lips. 'It is I, Mister Potter. The very same.'

'But you- the light- the Enchanting… You _saved_ me. Why?'

'I should be hurt that you seem so surprised. Have I not made it clear to you, time and again, that it is my job to ensure the safety of the students of this castle, no matter the cost? It is not a task I take lightly.

'I mean no offense when I say this, though I beg you consider it: Your upbringing, the legacy of your father, or perhaps more accurately, what you _imagine_ that legacy entails, has given you the predilection for assigning the terms 'good' and 'evil' with absolute certainty. It is true, that what your father fought against was the closest to evil as the wizarding world is likely to see, but the world is no longer split into good people and Death Eaters. We live in a world painted not in black and white, but in innumerable strokes of grey. Be not so quick to cry evil if someone's views merely do not align perfectly with your own.'

James nodded, cowed. 'So all this time…'

'I have been working to protect the students. The _most_ students. The safest method to deal with the Atlanteans involved some uncertainty in the state of Miss Rain's continued wellbeing; a small price to pay for the assured safety of the thousand who are harboured here. When the Merfolk interference removed that option from me, I acted as is my duty, to protect my students, as I always will.'

So that was how it worked, James assumed. A simple tally of cost-to-benefit, lives reduced to mere numbers and statistics. Clinical, emotionless terms like "uncertainty to wellbeing" leading to little more than a simple math equation to decide the right course of action. Was that what it truly took to be a leader? If so, it was not for him.

'Th-thanks,' James stumbled a little over the word. It wasn't something he had expected to be saying to Galatea Renshaw before all of this had happened.

Her expression softened, and she leaned forward to lay a hand atop his knee.

'You are most welcome. After all, I can't have my best and brightest second years putting their lives at risk.'

James shifted up to get more comfortable, managing to crack his head quite painfully on the stone wall behind him. He rubbed it vigorously.

'Well, erm… best and _boldest,_ perhaps. I mean it though, Mister Potter; your group of friends are, time and again, performing feats of magical prowess well beyond your years. I've long since advocated that British magical schooling is not sufficiently intensive to bring out the best in a child, and the eight of you are living proof of that.

'At the risk of repeating myself, I should caution you about this growing power, and how you should use it. The adage that with power comes responsibility is uttered so often not simply because it is a pretty turn of phrase. The more you display this power, the more people will ask of you. They will pull you this way and that, seek to use you to meet their ends. Have a care behind whom you choose to throw this power, for if there is one defining factor in carving out ones legacy, it is the choices made by the individual that will linger longest, and be debated by many for years to come.

'But enough lecturing for now; your role in ensuring the continued safety of our students was critical. You are a hero, James, at least in my eyes. For now, rest; there is yet some weeks remaining in the school year, and a certain Quidditch team has been clamouring to get in here and ensure you will be healthy for your next match.'

With that, Headmistress Renshaw favoured him with a final, gentle smile and turned to leave. Her footsteps echoed off the high, carved ceiling.

The moment she was gone, James threw the covers off and dashed out past his dividers. Madam Petheridge – arriving to administer his medication – whisper-shouted frantically at him, a picture of silent rage, furious, yet unwilling to risk waking any of the others up.

And they were all there, the others. Relief flooded over James in great waves as he peeked into each isolated cubicle to see the slumbering faces of his friends: Clip, with an entire side of his body covered in rich bruising; Tristan, with a thick set of bandages wrapped around his temple; and Holly, with every inch of exposed skin covered in myriad tiny scrapes and cuts, topped off by a nasty gash high on her cheekbone that was refusing to close. They were all there. Each of them bore the marks of battle, yet each now slept peacefully, safely. Madam Petheridge watched like a beady-eyed hawk to ensure James disturbed none of them.

In the final cubicle, James found Cassie propped up on her pillows. Her eyelids fluttered open as he entered.

'James!'

James dashed to her, leaping onto the bed – careful to avoid her elevated leg – and wrapped her up in the tightest hug he could muster.

'Ow, ow, _owowow!_ '

Tears of pain glistened in the corner of her eyes, as James pushed back in shock. He noticed a discolouration to her skin. Cassie smiled somewhat ruefully as she pulled back a sleeve of her robe, showing the same pale pink mottling all up her arm.

'I got frozen solid,' she mumbled sheepishly. 'But it burned all over. Everywhere hurts.'

Seeing Cassie hurt as a result of his decisions made James' insides squirm. Was this why a leader needed to reduce everything to mere numbers and arithmetic? Did they need so badly to desensitise themselves from the real price people paid in their following? James couldn't – he _wouldn't_ do it. This was his penance, his own self-flagellation as consequence for his actions. He would not hide from it.

'Sometimes I think you're the most Gryffindor out of all of us, Cassie.'

'Good gracious, no! James Potter, you ought to have seen me out there, I was terrified! And I achieved next-to-nothing. At one point I… I just wanted to run away and hide.'

She looked away from him then, unable to meet his eyes, fiddling with the corner of the bedsheet. Her shoulders were hunched defensively. The scene tugged at James' heart.

'But that's _why_ you're the bravest, isn't it? _Because_ you were so scared. Because right at that moment when you wanted to run and hide, you didn't; you just kept going. I don't think the real bravery belongs to the ones who run in leading a grand charge with wands firing, it's the ones who follow that are truly special; the ones who see the act and are terrified by it, but they put one foot in front of the other, time and again, not because it is easy, but because to do otherwise would mean failure.'

Cassie remained unconvinced.

'It was only because of Clip that I carried on at all. He gathered everyone after the Merfolk took Renshaw. We were beat, James. We couldn't carry on. I know I felt like a stick, floating on a giant river, placed there to try and stop it but swept away almost instantly. I felt useless, but Clip… he made us feel useful again, _needed_ , even.'

James looked over to where Clip was laying, hidden from view by the dividers between their beds.

'He was always far too clever to be so lacking in self-confidence.'

'He saw what you were about to do, in the room, before this all started, you know.'

James twisted where he sat on the edge of her bed to face Cassie. That discussion seemed like a lifetime ago now.

'He knew you almost couldn't James. And he knew that if you had suggested handing Rain over to Renshaw, that the group would have agreed to it. He spoke up so you didn't have to, because he knew that none of us could have lived with ourselves had we turned her in.'

A rush of warmth towards Clip flooded through James. He sat, stunned; he hadn't thought of that at all. He started, as beside him, Cassie gingerly worked her scalded hand into his own and gave it a soft, reassuring squeeze. James felt dirty for ever having doubted Clip, he felt like he had betrayed his friend.

'It seems everyone was a hero except for me,' he muttered dejectedly.

Cassie increased the pressure on her grip of his hand, despite a pained tightness appearing in the corner of her hazel eyes.

'James Sirius Potter, I will hear no such talk from you. If I could pick up my Dragon book without crying I should find myself of the inclination to beat you over the head with it for being so daft. No thirteen-year-old child should have to ever make the decision between loyalty to ones friends, and the courage to sacrifice all of that to save faceless hundreds.'

'But,' James could barely bring his voice above a whisper. 'But I almost made the wrong choice.'

'But you _didn't_. And that's what matters. Not only that, but you _fought_ for your choice. You convinced us – you showed us – that the friendship and love we have for each other is the most important thing of all. You convinced us _all_ to be brave, James Potter, convinced us all to forgo the easy choice, for that which was _right._ It was because of you, and your ability to lead us, that we were all able to shine. And if _that_ isn't the most Gryffindor trait of all of them, then I don't know what is.'

A relieved, goofy smile spread across James' face as he grinned down at Cassie. So tiny and dishevelled she looked, with her burnt skin and ruffled hair, yet how easily her logic had laid out just what James had wanted – _needed_ to hear.

'You always know the right things to say, Cassie.'

'You should try read a book now and then, you might learn a few words beyond "Broomstick" or "Quidditch."'

James smiled, stretching out on the bed next to Cassie, and closing his eyes, infinitely more at peace than he had been a handful of minutes ago.

The next few days brought dozens of visitors through the hospital wing, all clamouring to see James and his friends. Well, his friends bar Rain. She had been bundled off before she even regained consciousness on that first day, whisked away to St. Mungo's to run a series of "tests".

Most of the second year trundled through at some stage, to see their various friends. Leah Ridley and Rosalie Gardner both brought gigantic stacks of get-well flowers for James and Fred, respectively. Leah also left a small vial of shimmering green potion on James' bedside, which she insisted would put a "pep in his step". Considering his last encounter with something Leah had made in a cauldron, he promptly fed it to a nearby potted plant as soon as she departed.

The entire Gryffindor Quidditch team came in once – and once only. They arrived after a particularly wet practice, dragging mud and water all through the room. Lillian and Ryan were very pointedly standing on opposite sides of James' bed. As the group was shooed out vehemently by a now-exasperated Madam Petheridge, James was told in no uncertain terms that he had best be ready for the upcoming match – a must win to keep their shot at the title alive. Madam Petheridge rolled her eyes so hard James thought he'd never see them again.

Holly had few friends in her own house to visit her, but she was kept almost constant company by Professor Meadows, who spent long hours whispering in conspiratorial tones behind Holly's dividers. There was something there that was trying to jog James' memory, but he couldn't quite put his wand on it…

But more so than anyone, the extended Potter-Weasley clan was an almost constant presence over the following days, filtering in and out at will to bring James and Fred all manner of treats and well-wishes. Madam Petheridge got so fed up with the sheer number of them that she charmed a shabby old broom to guard the doorway and thwack anyone of that bloodline who stepped foot in the Hospital Wing without her _express_ permission.

A week from the day James opened his eyes, they were finally let out. All except for Holly, who had apparently undergone some sort of intense magico-physical exhaustion and required extensive rehabilitation. Whatever that meant. The relief in Madam Petheridge's eyes was palpable as she shooed them out the door for hopefully the last time, all with long sheets of parchment in hand outlining the list of things they were _not_ to do. Like Quidditch. The way James saw it, though, was as more of a recommendation than a mandate, and so his first stop after gaining freedom was to tell Ryan he was good to play.

The following morning the six who had been granted freedom were sat around the Gryffindor table together, poring over the latest issue of the _Daily Prophet._ James mostly skimmed across titles of the articles; a wizard was feared missing in the far south; an outbreak of some rare, virulent magical disease was getting a foothold in London; the Harpies had made some drastic and highly-criticized move in a last-gasp attempt to bolster their ranks in the wake of yet _another_ round of suspicious injuries – he'd have to come back to that one – but what he was _really_ looking for was an article covering the entire back page:

 _Murderous Merfolk: A Terrifying Attack Thwarted by Heroic Headmistress_

 _In a brazen and reckless act of rebellion, the Merfolk Colony situated within the Black Lake bordering Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has attempted an uprising, a move that would have put the lives of numerous students at risk but for the swift, decisive action of Headmistress Galatea Renshaw. The Prophet can now reveal the full story with exclusive coverage provided by the Fearless Headmistress herself._

 _As our diligent readers are no doubt aware – as the Prophet has been providing up-to-the-minute coverage throughout the year – tension has recently been mounting as the final settlement date for the highly contentious Merfolk Treaty approaches. Negotiations have long-since fallen through, and the Merfolk remain adamant that official Being Status in beneath them._

 _But perhaps it is_ _ **them**_ _who is beneath the Status. Unable to peacefully negotiate the latest impasse, the Merfolk returned to their bestial roots, launching a full-scale attack on a group of students within the grounds of Hogwarts. The students, who had snuck out to explore the Forbidden Forest out of hours, have had their identities protected, but a source close to the situation tells us that James Potter – eldest of the Potter brood – was among them._

 _Imagine, dear reader, a group of defenceless second-years, beset by fully adult Merfolk! An act that we, at the Prophet, are proud to report has not gone unpunished. This very morning, a full session of the Wizenagmot was called, and a near-unanimous decision was reached to immediately suspend any and all Treaty negotiations with the Merfolk. The decision was made to indefinitely rescind any offers of Being Status to the entire race, including but not limited to Sirens, Selkies and Merrows. The Merfolk, now classified as Dangerous Beasts, Level 3, possessing of near-human or sub-human intelligence, shall be treated as such, and any enquiries to seek permits for eradication of pest colonies should be directed to the Magical Animal Control Office, Level Four, Ministry of Magic._

 _This brave and decisive action was topped off by a mandate to immediately exterminate the population of Merfolk from the Black Lake and seize any and all possessions of the above._

 _This move has been widely applauded by the magical community, with the Minister for Magic himself stepping in to say that it was a "Landmark day for Wizardkind," and that he was considering an Order of Merlin for Galatea Renshaw for her "swift, decisive action," going on to say that "there is no-one more qualified… to lead our children."_

 _In honour of her bravery, a new wing has been donated by an anonymous source to St. Mungo's hospital focusing on the treatment of "Sub-Aqueous Accidents, Maladies and Injuries."_

 _For more on the thrilling childhood that shaped the force of nature that is Galatea Renshaw, turn to page 7._

'Bloody hell,' Fred breathed.

James couldn't have put it any better himself. 'That's- that's not what happened at all.'

'Well, she did _technically_ swoop in and save us,' Clip countered.

'She was rather swoop-ey,' Cat added sagely.

'There would have been nothing left to save if it weren't for Holly,' Tristan said.

The group groaned collectively.

'You've told us only about a _million_ times,' Fred complained.

'But you should have seen it! It was the most incredible thing I've ever seen. It was like she wasn't even a _person_ anymore, she moved like a shadow fleeing from firelight, like bottled midnight-'

'We get it!' Fred interjected. 'For the hundredth time, we get it. Young love, and all of that.'

'If you love her so much, why don't you just go ahead and marry her?' Clip childishly teased.

Tristan looked affronted. 'M- _marry_ her? I wouldn't dare! I know about marriage, Father told me all about it. It's only something you do to someone you _don't_ like, so you get to spend the rest of their life making _them_ miserable, too.'

There were days when James would have paid many a Galleon to take a peek inside the Macmillan household and the family's daily life.

'Tristan's outlandish claims aside,' Cassie spoke up. 'I think it's a good article. Imagine the panic if it got out that _Atlanteans_ had been loose inside the school grounds. What with the fear around the Desecrator already threatening to simmer over, something like this would cause mayhem. There'd be students pulled out of school left and right like Voldemort himself was back. This way is much simpler, much cleaner for everyone _.'_

'Except the poor Merfolk.' Cat's eyes were brimming with tears.

'Somebody had to take the fall, Kattala. And besides, they _did_ sort of attack us. _And_ attacked James earlier in the year. Without the Kjalsettr babysitting the clan, they were a bit, well… _beast_ y.'

'Better them than us, right?' Clip's smile was grim.

'It's only logical.'

 _Logic,_ James mused, _a cruel mistress indeed._ That was why, in his opinion, Ravenclaws made the most terrifying leaders of all.

Lost in his own little reverie about Atlanteans, global panic, and the _cleanest_ solution, James forgot all about the Harpies article he had planned to return to. And so he was rather surprised, when he joined the Quidditch team on their way to the pitch for their match against Ravenclaw, to find a rather confusing cloud hanging over the mood, and a tension he felt he could reach out and pluck.

Zanthia Fisher, never one to miss an opportunity to gossip, leaned towards James with a conspiratorial grin.

'Lillian's been offered a spot on the Harpies.'

What was so bad about that? 'That's great!' James exclaimed. He longed for the day when _he_ would be able to draw attention from the major league clubs.

But Zanthia wasn't done. 'Not so much. You see, with all their injuries, the position starts _immediately._ Lillian has a week to accept. They pull her from school entirely, training every day, all day. And no more school means no more Gryffindor Quidditch.'

The pieces clunked into place in James' mind with a depressing surety. 'So…'

'So no more Lillian. If we win today, we play Slytherin for the cup without one head of the Hydra. With the way Mansfield's flying, we don't stand a chance. The season's as good as over. Soon as she signs that parchment, we're done for. Poor Ryan has looked like his head's going to explode all morning.'

James glanced towards their captain – their usually fearless, unflappable leader, and saw him staring blankly off towards the Lake, his thoughts an enigma.

James hurried over to offer his congratulations to a sheepish-looking Lillian.

'Thanks James,' she smiled warmly, clapping him on the back. 'But just between you and me, it's not a done deal yet.'

James looked at her, confused. If _he_ had been offered such an opportunity, he'd be out of Hogwarts quicker than he could shout "guaranteed first-string salary!"

'If they pull me out of school, I miss my N.E.W.T's. I won't get to sit the exams at all. What if I get injured in my first game? What if I'm terrible on the big stage? Naturally, father says I ought to have signed already, but to me it's just a little scary not having anything to fall back on, is all.'

James thought Lillian's father had a very clear-minded view on the matter, but that clearly wasn't what she needed to hear. 'Whatever you do, Lillian, I'm sure it will be the right thing.'

'I wish someone would tell Ryan that.'

By the time the game with Ravenclaw was over, James was wishing that too. It had been an ugly a win as James could ever remember. Similar to the time last year when they had played through multiple suspensions and looked like a bunch of Muggleborns first trying out a broom.

Mercifully, Diana Fairbourne seemed unfazed by the latest round of drama to grip the team, and was able to at least remain competent enough to grab the Snitch and secure a win for Gryffindor. They were still in the chase for the Cup.

If only by the polish on their broom handles.

The final match became a point of intense speculation over the coming days, with the school widely regarding Lillian's acceptance of the offer a done deal, thus leaving Gryffindor with a miniscule chance of winning. The Lenders were offering odds on anything from how much the contract was worth, to which of the reserve Chasers would be the first knocked unconscious by Slytherins rough-and tumble style of play.

James began to see what Zanthia had said about Ryan's head wanting to explode. Each evening at practice he looked even more tight and drawn out. His upbeat exterior was being eroded fiercely from within – James knew more than most about what was eating away at him so badly. But ever the professional, Ryan would not lift a finger to stop Lillian from accepting, no matter how much it pained him.

The return of his friends was a welcome respite from the ceaseless speculation on the manner of the Gryffindor teams' doom. Tristan had made certain, by his constant recollections of what had happened down by the Lake to any who would listen, that Holly was elevated to something of a cult hero by the time she was fully healed. Although details of what _exactly_ occurred remained deliberately vague at Renshaw's stern insistence, it was widely agreed upon that Holly had conducted some form of alarmingly powerful and strikingly alluring magical ritual which had nearly saved the day single-handedly. And so she was greeted by what was to her a foreign phenomenon of hordes of – admittedly male dominated – students vying for her attention the moment she stepped from the doors.

'Looks like those remedial Defence classes with Meadows paid off, hey,' she grinned to the group as a Ravenclaw _fifth year_ left them after offering his services should Holly require extra study time.

'What exactly _was_ it that you did?' James probed, disappointed he had missed out on the spectacle, and for some reason bristling at all this extra male attention Holly was receiving.

'Ask her no questions…' Zoe Meadows interjected, swooping down on their reunion.

'And I'll tell you no lies,' Holly winked at James.

He was left standing rooted to the spot, staring dumbly as Holly and Professor Meadows strode off up the corridor, linked arm in arm, heads together whispering frantically. As they rounded the corner James heard them erupt in a fit of giggles and felt his cheeks burn in embarrassment.

Rain's return was somewhat understated by comparison; she merely slid in unannounced to a desk next to James one Potions lesson. She didn't last long, as James managed to tackle her to the floor in a relieved hug, gripping her sufficiently tight to elicit a pained 'Eeee…' sound. Soon Cassie, Fred, Clip and Cat had all joined the scrum and Professor Ellfrick had to spend a good portion of the lesson untangling them, showering them with stern glares and admonishing ' _tsks'._

She flashed him a glimpse of the Stone, nestled safely in the folds of her scarf, and shared a private smile with James.

'Once again, we find ourselves unassailable in the face of overwhelming odds, James Potter. Much more of this, and we may start to believe we are… _invincible.'_

She breathed the word reverently, as if it were sacred.

'Well, we had a _bit_ of help from our friends,' James countered.

'Indeed. Rather fascinating, the talents that they were able to display in such a time of distress. It must be the mark of a powerful leader indeed, to bring out the loyalty required in others to accomplish such feats.'

James had been about to argue that he hadn't really done much at all, but the way she lay her hand delicately atop his sent a pleasant wave of tingles running up his arm, and so he dropped the argument altogether and sat in content silence.

The following morning was the group's first opportunity to share breakfast all together since the proceedings at the Lake. They were gathered around the Gryffindor table, weathering a lecture from Cassie on the importance of a fully-organised study schedule as exams were only days away, when a muted hush fell over the Hall.

'… and so you need at _least_ an extra two inches here Fred.'

Her voice echoed into the silence.

'It's her,' Fred hissed, nodding towards the door.

'Today's the day,' Tristan nodded.

James swallowed nervously. Lillian Wood stood silhouetted against the rising sun streaming in through the Entrance Hall. She doled out a healthy serving of scowls all across the Hall, as the gathered students blatantly gawked.

The deadline for her to accept the offer from the Harpies was today. James gripped the stem of his goblet. He didn't notice that his shaking hands was sloshing pumpkin juice all over the sleeve of his robe.

Ryan stood abruptly as Lillian approached. The sound of the bench scraping on stone echoed starkly.

'Good morning, Ryan.' Lillian's voice was stilted and uncertain.

'Morning.' The effort Ryan put in to making his voice steady created a forced, deadpan monotone. 'I- I'll need you to hand in your uniform before the end of the day.'

'That's it?' Lillian tossed her head in the way she did when she was getting riled up. 'That's _it?!_ No thank you for playing beside me for seven years? No gratitude for convincing your weeping backside back onto a broom after Isla Wilkins dumped you in third year? I put your arse on that broom Ryan O'Flaherty, and I've kept it there for the best part of seven years, through all the shit that's come our way. Together, we've won more championships than any pair in the last hundred years, and you can't even manage to scrounge up a _thank you?'_

'What does it matter, if you can't finish the fight? There's a whole team left behind out there. There's others of us trying to realise our dreams as well.'

'And you decide that _now_ is the time to bring this up? You've barely said a single word to me since the announcement, and _now_ you tell me not to go?'

'I barely slept since the day you told me, Lil, because I didn't know what I'd do in your place. I didn't want to face the choice of leaving my team, but I couldn't stand in the way if this was what you wanted. That would be unfair.'

Lillian bunched her fists, and yelled up at the ceiling, looking as if she wanted to stamp her foot or throttle Ryan – or both.

'Why? Why do you have to be so noble and moral and, and… so _Gryffindor_ about it all? Why couldn't you just tell me! Or kick me in the shins and break my leg so I couldn't go, Hex me into a butterfly, or owl the Harpies and tell them I'm secretly a man, anything!'

'Because- erm…'

'Well I've decided I'm staying – no thanks to you.'

Ryan looked like he'd been slapped. The entire hall gasped as one. Somewhere in the school, the Lenders were whooping with glee.

'You what? You-'

And Ryan leaped forward, wrapping Lillian in an all-consuming hug and pressing his lips firmly to her own.

The entire Gryffindor table stood up to cheer, but froze as the couple broke apart a heartbeat later.

'Wait, you're not _actually_ secretly a guy, are you?'

Lillian's only response was to push Ryan back to his seat and continue the kiss. The chorus of groans from every female student above third year was drowned out by the raucous cheers from the length of the Gryffindor table. The Hydra was back together; Gryffindor was back in the race.

And the entire team rode that high all through the final week of term leading up to the last Quidditch match of the year. The prospect of looming exams was pushed aside – much to Cassie's chagrin – as the match became the hottest topic on the grounds. By the time James flew out onto the pitch alongside his team there had been no fewer than six duels, eight black eyes and a small scale riot started in its name. The entire school was gathered to see who would take home the Cup.

With Lillian back, betting had swung heavily to favour Gryffindor, though no-one appeared to have mentioned this to Odette Mansfield, who had been frequently seen sauntering throughout the castle and wondering aloud how many years it had been since someone younger than her had captained a team to Cup victory.

James looked on from the front-row reserves bench as the Hydra flew like a trio who had played together for seven years; they looked every bit the best of the best. Their turns were crisp, their commands accurate, their attack pinpoint and their defence smothering. Back up in the stands, multiple rows of clipboard-and-quill toting scouts watched on eagerly, frantically scribbling line after line of notes, interspersed with impressed nods of their collective heads.

But the Slytherin team were far from the rag-tag bunch of slackers they had been at the start of the year; Odette's drive to win bordered on fervent, and it had shown through in her training of the squad. They met Gryffindor at almost every turn, ducking and swooping and diving to make last-ditch saves to keep themselves in the game.

As the match wore on, James got the feeling more and more that the Slytherin team were hanging on by the twigs of their broom-tails. The Hydra lined up in an aggressive Gryphon-wing attacking formation, and their opponents were a half-second too slow to regroup, allowing Lillian to float a perfectly-timed pass to Ryan past the clutching fingers of Collette Malkin. With only the Keeper to beat, Ryan made short work of another Gryffindor goal, edging them ahead at one-hundred-twenty points to eighty.

Slytherin countered with the technically-difficult Harpy's Tail manoeuvre, stacking the left side of the field and weaving in and out of the stands, tossing the Quaffle over the heads of the cheering crowd. Collette Malkin ducked under Connor Flint's outstretched arm and lofted a high pass to Tennyson Braithwaite in front of what should have been an open goal.

But Lillian and Ryan were a step ahead of them. Lillian shot out from Ryan's slipstream, using the extra speed to edge Braithwaite to the Quaffle, gripping it in her fingertips and flicking it back down to Ryan, who tore up a wide open right-hand flank to slot another goal past the hapless Keeper and stretch the lead.

Far above all of this flitting chaos, Odette slowly circled the pitch like a Hippogriff sizing up a flock of sparrows.

Gryffindor had overcome some unspoken, arbitrary tipping-point in the Slytherin Chasers mindset with that run of play. Something about it had cracked the morale of the men and women in green, perhaps irreparably. Archie MacDougal emphasised the matter by rocketing a Bludger into Selwyn MacNair's arm, drawing out a sickening _crack_ that had the whole crowd gasping uneasily.

But rather than relax, James' heart rate began to quicken as the Gryffindor lead grew. Crucially, they still didn't have the one-hundred-fifty point buffer that even Odette wouldn't be able to overcome. The pace of the game changed with the addition of Slytherin's reserve Chaser, as the Hydra felt him out, sensing for his weaknesses and tendencies. And so the score seemed to grind to a halt at two-hundred-twenty points to one hundred.

A growing sense of dread continued to build deep in James' gut as first Connor, and then Lillian missed what should have been easy goals. He could almost physically feel the match conspiring against Gryffindor, primed as it was for a heroic play from Odette to steal the Snitch and snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.

As it was, James was hardly surprised when, a moment later, the two Seekers started a headlong dive towards the base of the Gryffindor goal hoops, where fluttered a tiny golden speck of light.

Diana was angling in from the right, and Odette swooping down from the left, from James' side of the pitch. She had the preferable angle, but the sun was glaring right into her eyes, and James could see her line was a touch high. He leapt to his feet with the rest of the spectators, clutching the railing and yelling his support for Diana in the form of a wordless howl. Beside him, Al was ducking and weaving with her, as if he were the one tearing down the pitch.

 _Move, damn you!_ James silently cursed the Snitch. Even with the glaring sun, it was become clear that Odette still had the edge. Her faster broom and superior skills were beginning to open up the tiniest of gaps between them as they closed to within ten metres. All around him the Gryffindor supporters were screaming themselves hoarse, first in anticipation, then in shock as they, too realised what was happening.

As Odette began to set her balance to lunge for victory, the Snitch darted forward, back over the shoulders of the two Seekers and out to the middle of the pitch. Fans in red-and-gold cheered as if they'd won the match as Diana made a wide circle about the goal hoops to turn and have another go.

But Odette chose a much more direct option, hooking her foot around the solid steel pillar of the goal hoop, and using her momentum to shoot her back without losing speed. James was particularly familiar with this move, having been forced to use it earlier in the year himself. He had christened it the –

 _Pop!_

– Lebanese Leg-Breaker. He couldn't hear Odette's scream of pain over the horrified groan of the crowd, but the way her right leg now hung uselessly beneath her, dragging on the turf spoke loudly enough.

In pain, and unable to lift her leg free from the grass, Odette was quickly bleeding ground to a hale and hearty Diana, roaring up inside her towards the Snitch. The pair locked elbows near midfield, as the Snitch appeared to take off ahead of them in panic.

A brief bout of scratching, spitting and tussling ended abruptly when Diana lashed out a kick at Odette's broken leg, causing her to fall from her broom in agony, and allowing Diana to close the final few metres and wrap her fingers about the Snitch, securing the win.

The stadium erupted.

Every member was on their feet – Gryffindor supporters dashing to the pitch to hold their team high, and those in green-and-silver crying in outrage for a Foul call that James knew wouldn't come. Odette had made first contact in the exchange, Diana was free to retaliate. The move was legal, and the victory was theirs.

James and Fred and Al joined the team in the centre of the pitch, hugging and jumping together, chanting 'Gryffindor, Gryffindor!' over and over. In moments, the rest of the school joined them, hoisting them high onto their shoulders and carrying them on no fewer than three victory laps around the pitch, before knocking every one of their heads on the cross-beams as they marched them to the locker room under Ryan's orders.

The team bathed in the relative calm of the locker room for a long moment, listening to the wild cheers and singing still emanating from the pitch. Pops and cracks announced the arrival of a set of Weasley's Wildfire Whizbangs, and the party roared on.

Eventually, Ryan stood up to speak.

'It's been an honour and a privilege, ladies and gentlemen, to share this journey with you all. My only regret is that it now has to end. But I look around this room, and see enough young talent to keep this Cup in Gryffindor for the next seven years. There's little else to say, other than how proud of you all I am, and how, time and again, you've all shown not only myself, but the entire school, that you're made of tougher stuff than all of them. And so it gives me great pleasure to present you all with _the Quidditch House Cup!'_

The entire locker room burst into a cheer to rival the revellers outside. They all took turns hefting it, and Archie MacDougal produced a bottle of Firewhiskey that he poured into it, handing it around for everyone to drink from. They emerged from the room all the merrier, linked arm-in-arm, with the Cup held by Ryan and Lillian together, joining the revelry as it made its meandering way up towards the castle and the riotous Gryffindor common room that awaited.

James paused at the base of the Grand Staircase, extricating himself from Fred and Al's arms. 'I'll catch you up there in a moment,' he promised, flashing a brief thumbs-up and squirting free of the pressing crowd to run one final errand.

His footsteps echoed in that familiar way across the tiled floor of the Hospital Wing. At first he thought the room deserted, until he saw a shape in the farthest bed from the door. He felt an unexpected pang of sympathy – her team was nowhere to be seen. He quickly quashed it, she would hardly have felt the same for him.

'Come to gloat, Potter?'

Odette's voice rang out in the silence. Her words were slurred a little, and as James approached, he noticed a half-dozen phials of Pain-relief Potion decorating the bedside table. Her eyes were hazy, and she wore a bemused expression, but she focused on him well enough.

'I actually came to say well played,' he mumbled, already regretting his decision.

'So how'd you like me trying out your little move out there? Didn't work so well for me though. Dislocated _everything,_ and broke my foot to boot. Check this out.'

Without warning, she threw back the covers on the bed, exposing her bare leg up to the waist. It was covered entirely in thick purple bruising, and the swelling around the joints looked agonizing. James grimaced sympathetically, before having to tear his eyes away as he caught sight of something mint green and lacy.

Odette merely giggled. 'One of these days, Potter. One of these days…' She reached out a hand as if to grab his own, but it fell to her side before making it halfway. Her eyelids drooped, close to sleep.

'Where's your team?' James asked, making sure to maintain rigorous eye contact.

'Bunch of Pygmy Puffs, off sulking 'coz we lost. Blaming me, probably. Screw 'em, they don't have to like me, they just have to know I'm the only reason their sorry arses made it this far.'

The sentiment saddened James somewhat; what good was a team if they weren't, well, a _team._ On the pitch and off of it.

'They should be here, with you, their Captain.'

'And yet, nothing. Instead I get the great James Potter gracing my presence, sacrificing valuable partying time to come and dole out his pity.'

It seemed that two sentences was the limit she could go without aggravating him. 'I just wanted to make sure you're OK,' he grumbled.

'Of course. You might want to work on your _Sonorus_ charm, soon I won't be able to hear you from way up there on your high horse.'

Her eyes weren't wild, her voice wasn't dripping with hurt or malice, she was merely flat and dismissive. For some reason this angered James even more.

'Fine, enjoy your night here by yourself. I've got _friends_ to go and meet.'

That got her, just the tiniest bit. As James spun on his heel to leave, he caught the flicker of something behind that ever-present haughty façade. It left with a grim satisfaction all the way up until it morphed into disappointed disgust.

The first few Butterbeers tasted a little sour in his mouth, after that.

The party had been one for the ages; roaring on in full swing until midday the next day when a more exasperated than angry Professor Longbottom ordered it shut down. Will MacDougal slept for twenty hours straight afterwards, sleep-vomiting a total of eight times. It became a well-attended spectacle by the end. Archie went missing for most of the next day, until he was finally found wedged up the chimney, a pair of frilly red-and-gold knickers strapped to his head.

James' own head was still pounding come Monday morning, and the beginning of their exams. Cassie's constant shifts between berating him for being so irresponsible and nattering pointlessly about if she had studied enough certainly weren't doing it any favours.

He managed to stay awake for _most_ of that first exam – Charms – and gave himself a well-deserved afternoon off from studying. The rest of the week passed in little more than a parchment-scented blur, as exam after exam slowly wore the students down into a state of listless despondence. James certainly didn't remember it being this taxing last time around.

Come the following Sunday, when the students all boarded the train, he was glad to be free of the place, and had already allotted himself a full ten days without so much as _thinking_ about school as a reward for his efforts.

The group's farewells were part-teary, part-laced with promises of writing every other day, and keeping in touch. James managed to catch Odette's eye as she was stepping off the train. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but a stranger passed between them, and by the time he was gone, she had too. James shrugged and turned to the warm embrace of his family, and the promise of a chance to relax.

'…so proud of you, Lil!' Oliver Wood was saying to his daughter as the Potters passed by. 'Oh yes, winning the Cup is great and all, but just _look_ at him _._ The bloodline, the breeding! We'll be making stars for generations!'

James smiled a private smile as the family left King's Cross Station. The sun was shining, the day was clear and still. He was looking forward to a long, relaxing, hot summer. Though preferably one with as little swimming involved as possible.

* * *

 _**FINAL A/N PLEASE READ**_

 _A/N: And so we come to the end of James' second year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I thank you for sticking with the journey up until this point and, as always, would welcome any feedback on things you liked, things you wanted to see more of, or things you just plain hated. Let me know and I'll try and include/exclude requests in the coming books. Speaking of which, the third installment remains as yet untitled, and wholly unwritten, so if you are enjoying the story so far, please Favourite/Follow my Author's page if you would like an update when the third book is released, as it WILL NOT be released as another chapter of this Tides of Change story._

 _Always happy and open to discuss the story if anyone has questions, feel free to shoot me a message and I'll get back to you._

 _That's it for now, I hope to be back and into Book three in the very near future, so until then, farewell, and thank you once more._

 _SGTWhiskeyJack_


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